1000 Ways to Die
by SewerAngel
Summary: Harley Quinn just broke her psychopathic maybe-boyfriend out of the loony bin, and she's ready to start her real life romantic comedy. The Joker has other ideas, but Harley's more resilient than she looks and she might just turn out to be the greatest joke he's ever told- true love can move mountains, right? At the very least it will help you move a body. (Sequel to Jailbait)
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note** : Ladies, gents, and non-binary people, _welcome to 1000 ways to die!_

I just want to say I'm _really_ excited about this fic- Jailbait was a story about Harley giving in to Joker, and in a slightly abstract sense, 1000 ways to die is a story about Joker giving in to Harley (in his own, violent way of course). This is my attempt to document the development of their relationship outside of Arkham and Harley's transition from a delinquent psychiatrist to a villain in her own right.

Next order of business, I have some serious warnings about this chapter. Theres a pretty long and fairly insensitive discussion of suicide, so if you think that will be triggering for you, you may want to avoid reading this. This chapter is also fairly violent and quite rough emotionally- although I think it ends on a high note, but still proceed with caution if you think that will disturb you.

So yeah, strap in kids, its gonna be a bumpy ride!

Thank you to everyone who read jailbait, your views and reviews are what kept me going through the four re-writes I did for this chapter- honestly, I was close to giving up entirely. I obviously didn't though, and thats at least 70% because I didn't want to let you guys down, so this is dedicated to you guys. I hope you enjoy it and don't be afraid to let me know what you think!

Xoxo, Sewer Angel

 **Chapter 1: Excessive or pathological constriction or compression of the trachea and associated structures**

"There's um, there's a suit in the back seat- I know it's not right, I just… I thought it would be better than the jumpsuit."

His nose crinkles and his mouth jerks to the side as if he'd been about to say something but thought better. Finally his eyes narrow, and he keeps them almost suspiciously pinned on me as he reaches back to grab the grocery bag I'd filled for him. I stare intently at the road because I don't want to see him react, and now I feel embarrassed for even trying. Of course I wouldn't be able to procure anything suitable, it was _ridiculous_ of me to-

"Hmf." He riffles through the offerings, but if I'm not mistaken he seems just a little surprised- pleasantly so. I swell with the accomplishment, and think rather self-importantly that his goons would never have done such a good job. And they certainly wouldn't have looked half as good doing it.

I almost run us off the road when I hear the zipper on his jumpsuit going down.

I didn't think he was going to change here! I don't dare look directly at him as he uncovers all the white skin under the top half of his jumpsuit. The only sound in the car is a very loud gulp that comes from me. You'd think I'd never seen a naked man before- he's not even fully naked!

 _Oh my god, well don't think about that, Harls,_ t _hat's not going to help your driving._

"The pants might be a bit short." I blurt. "I couldn't find anything with tails, and the shoes- I'm sorry the colors aren't right, I had to settle for black, but the bow-tie- " I'm babbling, I know. I can't stop because he's wrestling off the last vestiges of his uniform and I _definitely_ need to not think about that, I _definitely_ need to not drive into oncoming traffic.

"Are you going to keep doing that?" He interjects, somehow having maneuvered one leg over his head above the dashboard, obscuring half of the windshield with the slacks he's trying to tug on.

"What?" my voice cracks and I wince, but he doesn't seem to care or notice, pausing with his pants halfway up his legs so he can flap his hands around in the air near my head. "All this... lip smacking."

"Consider em' sealed boss!" I make a gesture like I'm locking my lips and throwing away the key. I note that he preens almost imperceptibly at the title, so I tuck it away for later use and we drive on to the sounds of his quick-change.

"Right." He barks abruptly and I lurch, barely managing to avoid a swerve.

"Wha-"

"Turn right!" He growls, leaning back in his seat with a purse of his lips and a look of utter vexation. "Head for the narrows, I'll direct you from there." With that he falls ominously silent, turning to face the passenger side window. I nod tightly, finding every muscle twisted tense under the weight of his souring mood. I think I'll keep my mouth shut for now. Maybe he's hungry- and _I'm_ the idiot who forgot to bring snacks, god _damnit_. I knew I forgot something! It just _had_ to be snacks didn't it? He clearly wasn't expecting a change of clothes, might not have noticed it if I hadn't brought his attention to it, but food- _god_ , he must be starving!

"Left on Lester." He mutters, gesturing vaguely. I let myself fall into the sound of his voice as he snaps commands; always having me turn at the last minute in what I'm quite sure is a bid to keep me on my toes. It's soothing though, the way he drills me. It keeps me from thinking too much.

Finally, I pull into the parking lot of the very neon and ever so seedy 'Final Resting Place' motel, which by name alone has _got_ to be one of his properties. He directs me to the last spot, then pulls out a phone I don't recognize, one that was most likely taken from a guard. He dials a number, and when someone picks up he just starts speaking _Japanese_ \- at least I think it's Japanese- how would I know?

As far as I can tell his accent is perfect, and though I can't understand a word he's saying, his tone of voice is very pleasant and he seems quite relaxed. Moments later an elderly Asian woman comes marching out of the main building and J swings open the passenger side door, slamming it behind him and chuckling when I jump in reaction. He sticks his hands into his too-short pant pockets and strides over to the woman, who, to my utter shock, greets him with a great big hug. He pats her once on the head, looking unmoved but unlikely to kill her, and she releases him. I sit motionless and gaping in the drivers seat as they begin what appears to be a comfortable chatter with occasional and apparently reprimanding finger wags on her part.

 _Honestly, what the fuck is going on?_

Suddenly her eyes switch to me, and all I want is to hide under the dashboard but I feel like I'm pinned in place. Her wrinkled, papery skin crinkles as her mouth stretches into what might honestly be the world's _second_ scariest smile and I shiver unintentionally. She says something that makes him laugh, and I feel a twinge of jealousy that dilutes my uncertainty enough to twist my mouth into a sneer. She's already looking away though, so I pout uselessly because who the fuck does this grandma think she is? _I'm_ supposed to be the one that makes him laugh; _I'm_ supposed to be the special one! I grit my teeth so hard my jaw creaks, barely suppressing the urge to chuck one of my knives at her head as she hands over a key and walks away with her lips still flapping.

A strange sort of outrage claws up my throat and I glance back to J, hoping in vain that he'll pull out his gun. To my horror he just rolls his eyes, kicking out a leg and spinning away to face the motel. He heads for the last room on the row and he doesn't even look back at me _once._ A reflexive panic wells up and I throw open the drivers side door, scrambling out of the car and nearly falling flat on my face in my frantic rush to join him. My heart thuds with the fresh fear that my worth might have stayed at Arkham with my job, and my vision blurs around the corners. I urgently want to find him some food but I'm being throttled by the thought that he's _forgotten_ me- he stabs the key into the lock and twists it.

"How do you know that woman?" I know I shouldn't have asked, but I can't think of anything else to say because he's got his hand on the doorknob. He turns slowly, revealing a forebodingly pleasant smile. It makes his eyes twinkle alluringly, which is adorable even though it makes me feel a bit like I'm about to get pied in the face with something considerably more noxious than coconut cream.

"I killed her husband." He explains with an air of exaggerated nonchalance, fanning a hand out palm up. "Old _pro_ at corpse disposal." He bends abruptly and his face is inches from mine, fully animated and overwhelming. "Reduce, re-use, re-cycle you know, _very_ _efficient_. Makes great pork dumplings too." He smacks his lips with a particularly wolfish grin that has my head spinning, and then he takes a sliding step to the side as he throws the door open behind him. "Beauty before lunacy" He says and he's already laughing.

I _know_ it's stupid but my answering giggle is automatic as I step forward, and I don't look away from his smirk until the door slams back into my face. I stumble with a squawk, tripping over the leg he's conveniently stuck out behind me, and I land on my ass just in time to see him step over my legs and slam the door behind him. My butt hurts a little less when I fail to pick out the sound of the lock clicking behind him, and I've got my grin back by the time I've pulled myself to my feet. At least he's expecting me to join him- or he wouldn't mind if I did. I'm filled with a buoyant excitement as I run over to the vending machine and pump it full of my change, and the feeling doesn't fade any as I strut back with candy-laden arms. I shift the offering carefully into the crook of one arm, and I open the door.

"No dallying!" I nearly drop everything. He's standing in front of the mirror in the room's small bathroom, surreptitiously checking himself out. "I haven't got all day- time is money, money is hot lead, and hot lead is for _Bat_ man, lets get a _move_ on." He snaps his fingers and I falter in the open doorway, awkwardly clutching my snack haul. I have absolutely no idea what task I'm supposedly shirking- he sighs, rolling his eyes as points at his head. "I won't tolerate this phaeomelanic nonsense any longer."

I have no idea _what_ he just said, but at least I think I know what I'm supposed to be doing. I grin sheepishly because I'm utterly honoured to be allowed to do his hair, and I close the door behind me before grabbing the chair from the rickety desk by the window. I drag it into the bathroom, setting it in front of the mirror and then, triumphantly, I hand him the snacks- well actually he takes them, but I was going to give them to him anyway. He folds himself into his plastic seat like it's a throne, crossing his legs and digging into a bag of sour patch kids as I wrap a towel around his shoulders. My hands hover anxiously for a moment as I try not to look at him in the mirror- I have to admit I'm having trouble focusing right now.

He watches with faint amusement when I finally begin to section his hair, painting it with the caustic white goo and then smoothing it down. I'm glad for the task because his stare is unnerving and otherwise I would be thinking about how I just busted a mass murderer out of a high security correctional facility. About how he could decide to kill me at any point and it would be so goddamn easy- but mostly about how that doesn't bother me as much as it should.

Lets be honest, it never has.

It takes a sharp yank on one of my pigtails to actually stop the tirade of anxious thought, and I look to his reflection with what I latently realize is the dopiest, most stupidly love-struck smile. He rolls his eyes at me and I squirm.

"It's very _rude_ to ogle me like that- I'm more than a piece of meat, you know." He purrs, and I stand at attention behind him.

"Sorry Mistah J." I go back to my work, failing to tuck away my grin. He snickers, picking at his bare nails. His foot has been tapping this whole time but now it's starting to speed up. I do too, rushing to coat the rest of his hair because he's obviously getting impatient- he jumps to his feet and he's left the bathroom so fast that I almost think he's teleported to the main room. I follow him out just in time to see him snatch the remote and throw himself onto the bed. He's muttering something rhythmic as I near.

" _ShowmetheBatShowmetheBatShowmethe-_ " As if on cue the news station blares into pixelated view on the very elderly Tv that sits on the squat cabinet across from the bed, and Summer Gleeson appears onscreen.

"- the Batman was sighted on Arkham grounds shortly after Isley breached her containment facility. " The screen cuts away to an aerial view of the courtyard that used to serve as a rec area for the north wing- or what's left of it. The center of the grassy expanse has been torn, a great gash parting the ground and bleeding plant life. Thick green vine pours out of the crack and lashes forward at a small inky figure.

"The vigilante appears to have been using some sort small explosives to incapacitate Isley's plants, "

The inkblot hero is executing a whirling floor routine, moving out of the way by inches each time one of those mammoth vines swings in his direction. But then he lets one of them hit him, right across the stomach, and he holds on. He lets the thing whip him around a bit, and then he drops to the ground and rolls away. Seconds later the vine explodes and the bottom half hits the ground _hard_ in a rash of flame, nearly crushing the Bat. I shift nervously because somewhere in that knot of emerald and flame, Ivy is mourning the loss of a child. The ground shakes, but Bats just keeps moving and he takes out another two large tendrils in quick succession. Ivy is pulling back- she still isn't visible but her verdured beasts are retreating into the ruins of her subterranean cell and Bats is still pushing forward, hacking and slashing with a batarang.

"Atta boy Batsy! _Slice n' dice_ -" I glance at J to find him perched on the end of the bed with his fists balled up on the tops of his thighs. He stares in rapt attention at his arch nemesis, and his toothy grin is somehow both livid and overjoyed. The tiny knight on screen is at the edge of the chasm when something dark and clawed reaches up to drag him down into it.

"Crocky!" Exclaims the clown with considerable delight, stomping his bare feet on the carpeted floor.

"Batman had nearly subdued Isley when he was attacked by Waylon Jones, A.K.A Killer Crock, who had occupied the neighbouring cell."

Suddenly the plants surge forward and Ivy appears for the first time, resplendent in living armor, her scarlet hair streaming in the wind as she marches away with her host threading through the earth behind her. "Isley escaped during Jones's attack, and has not been sighted since, although local plant life continues to attack the asylum." As Ivy nears the tree line, every branch and leaf in the vicinity reaches out to her, and she disappears into their arms.

"Your new _breast friend_ is awfully showy, Harls." He cuts me a withering glare out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, but she ain't got your style." I sound a bit out of breath, and I am, because I'm looking straight at him and he's all sharp bone and stark contrast. He sneers, then he turns back to the TV muttering about brown-nosing harpies.

When I look back, the camera has tracked over to the rift in the yard in time to capture the Bat as he drags himself up, hauling a tied and unconscious Crock up behind him.

"Jones was quickly subdued and has been taken into custody. Jones's cell was likely breached during Isley's break out, which destroyed a large portion of the north wing, including the compound's main generator." The feed switches back to Summer, who purposefully clasps her hands before she speaks again. "Security feeds from inside the asylum have been shut down, as the compound is currently running on backup generators. However, we have received reports that several other high-profile inmates have escaped, most notably the Joker." His most recent intake photo comes on screen and my hands move to clap of their own accord. He really does look absolutely dashing, even with the awful bruising. He doesn't acknowledge me directly, but he does tip his chin up with a lazy sort of grin.

"Sources from inside the asylum spotted the mass murderer with a female accomplice, and later saw him abducting the Asylum's new warden, Agnes Brieve, who barely survived the encounter and is currently in surgery. The Joker is believed to have left the premises after torturing Brieve, and has not been seen since. Police commissioner Gordon released the following statement."

The commissioner appears, looking exceptionally harried. His white hair is ruffled and his skin looks papery from lack of sleep.

"I can confirm that the Joker has escaped from Arkham custody-" A rash of jumbled shouts break out from the sea of reporters in front of him, and he sighs, holding up a hand. "-And the GCPD is currently on high alert- we are doing absolutely everything to track down that ***** bleep* clown and put him back where he belongs."

"Ooh, Jimbo always has the _cutest_ nicknames for me." J sighs, clasping his hands over his heart, and I accidentally let out an unattractive snort.

"What about the girl?" Shouts someone lost to the crowd, and Gordon wipes a hand over his face before propping it against his podium.

"We currently have no information about her identity or her whereabouts, but we are considering her an accomplice to the Joker and we will be treating her as a high risk individual."

" _Aw,_ look at that- _babies first steps._ " He snickers and I know it's meant to be rude, but I can't help preening. I got a certificate when I became a doctor, didn't I? I think I deserve one for this- after all; I'm _high_ _risk_ now. The feed cuts back to summer, who details known deaths and captures. Most of the big catches are thanks to the Bat of course- he _is_ kind of spectacular if you ignore the fact that he's _completely_ annoying.

An off-hand glance at the clock reminds me of the bleach in J's hair, and I start forward without thinking before halting awkwardly.

"Uh- Boss? Its probly' about time to wash your-" He stands in a blink and walks right past me without a single glance, so I abandon the sentence to follow him into the bathroom.

He unbuttons his shirt as he walks, shedding it next to the tub as he kneels in front of it. Clean, Y-shaped cuts run up beneath his collarbones and down his ridged abdomen between the crests of his hipbones- he turns to dunk his head under the bathtub faucet. In this brief reprieve I manage to tear myself away, whirling around to the sink with my heart hammering against my ribs. I take a few deep breaths before forcing myself to move, plugging in the tiny motel blow dryer.

I hear the tub faucet turn off and I startle, busying myself by opening and mixing the jar of green dye. He towels off his hair, taking his seat in front of the mirror, and steeling myself, I turn to face him. I keep my lower lip pinched tight between my teeth as I dry and paint his now only faintly brassy hair because I'm afraid I'll say something stupid, and I'm sweating, and I can't stop looking at his chest- that is _definitely_ an autopsy scar.

What the _fu_ -

"Staring again." He snaps. " _Stop it_."

I glue my eyes to my hands with a nervous giggle, deciding to suppress any worries I might have about possible autopsies because he's _ok_ , and he's _here_. And if someone did that to him I will find out eventually and I will rip their intestines out through their mouths. That puts a real smile on my face, and my nerves slow their rattle, releasing the cage of tense muscle that was compressing my ribcage. I do my job in silence, still feeling that tension he's been brewing- it crackles in the air now, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. I finish nervously, setting a timer on my phone and cleaning up the dye as the quiet sinks in. It seeps under my skin and makes me fidget as I lean back against the counter to stare at the tiled floor. I search desperately for something witty to say, something to turn his mood and make him _talk_ to me again but nothing good comes up so I'm left just standing here for _thirty_ - _minutes_. I am painfully aware of his every sigh and grumble, each tap of his foot and every minute shift of his weight. I swear to god I don't move or breath at all until the alarm goes off.

I open my mouth to tell him it's time to wash, but he's already moving for the tub so I freeze again, eyes on his back as he crouches to wet his hair. When the water runs clear he turns off the tap, cracking his neck as he stands to flip his hair back. Slowly, he reaches for his towel, draping it over his head and rubbing it around for a bit before tossing it into the bathtub. When he faces me, he's smiling but his pupils are pinpricks, and the effect is predatory.

"You know Harley," he takes a step forward with a hand in his pocket and a lazy smile on his face, and my breath hitches. It could be casual if it didn't put us in such close proximity- if he weren't shirtless, and damp, and frankly if he weren't _h_ im- but it is _not_ ca _sual_. "A fella might think you're up to something…" He has backed me against the counter and I gasp when his chest brushes mine, craning my neck to see his face. His eyes are still wild and it terrifies me, but I can't look away because he's like a goddamn _hypnotist_. The firm warmth of him holds me immobile and the smell of him coils around my mind to make me senseless- at least until I feel his hand on my my entire existence has narrowed down to that one point of contact, to the odd smoothness of his fingertips and the jarring cold of them- I don't bother to try breathing.

"Hiding all these _treats_." The word is just as sharp as the click that follows it, and then he's holding my thigh holster up for perusal. He slides the third knife from the top out of its slot, draping the holster over his shoulder, and the blade instantly looks more comfortable in his hand than it did in mine. I bite my lip at the memory of all the terrible, beautiful things I've seen him do with a scalpel.

There is a moment of rigid stillness, and then we're in motion.

Harsh white light glints off the raised knife, and I wrap my arms around him seconds before he opens a thin line across the ridge of my cheekbone. There's the initial shock, the confused neural silence just after the skin splits, and then the fibers start to scream. Fuzzy endorphin warmth drowns me and my knees wobble precariously, so I tighten my arms around his waist and I press my leaking cheek to his chest.

Distantly I'm aware that he's gone statue-still, but I'm really too inebriated to worry about that. I worry even less about the sharp thing that presses against the flesh under my chin, tipping my face up. The world warps pleasantly when he comes into view, all amplified colour and an unfocused halo of fluorescent light settling on his damp hair. He looks absolutely surreal, and all of those hazy-tingle cut-nerve chemicals start pumping in one direction. It's pure libido when I lean up on tiptoes, and I look him straight in the eye despite the furious flush that scorches my face.

"Y'know I got other treats too, Mistah J," My voice sounds foreign and slurred and his brows push all the way down before one of them slowly arches like he's asking if I'm sure I want to be so audacious. Then, so quickly that I question whether it's actually happened, he closes the distance between us. I'm begging for a kiss but he gives me the pressure of a knife's tip and his searing breath on the hypersensitive skin of my lacerated cheek. He inhales and I sway forward like he's breathing me in because I think he might be, and I'm lost to the nearness of him when he finally speaks.

"Harley Quinn..." The sound of my name filtered by his smile is more exhilarating than any proper noun should be. The pointed push of steel deserts my skin and seconds later it plunges into the vinyl countertop between my middle and ring fingers, pushing out a startled yelp that dissolves into a giggle. He laughs too, and it sounds easy pouring straight into my ear. I feel like a particle of gunpowder drifting for an open flame and I'm _sure_ it's going to happen this time; he's _finally_ going to-

"Did you actually think I _wanted_ you?" His tone is so light, so matter of fact that it takes a second for the ice to spike my stomach, but then colour drains from my world and hard knot ties itself in my throat. "Har _leen_ Quin _zel_." He pronounces it with bitter mockery, pulling away to watch me crumble. "People always thought your treats looked _tasty_ , didn't they? _T_ asty enough to ignore whatever inane _nonsense_ is coming out of your mouth. Is that how you got them to pretend to take you seriously- handing out _cookies_?"

I falter- I'm not sure where he's going with this but it isn't exactly a new accusation. I didn't have to lift my skirt for grades, but if a bit of cleavage could help me get a grant I wasn't going to wear a turtleneck- of course that changed after university, I some how thought it meant I deserved it less, but I know that's bullshit now. I wouldn't have deserved it any less if _had_ fucked my way through, because I used what I had at my disposal. I was _resourceful_.

"Well, _yeah_ but usually I only had to put em' on display." I shrug, and I find myself with a small smile pushing back the sting behind my eyes. He smiles now too but it's not the good kind- it's terrifyingly predacious and it prickles across my skin.

"And _proud_ , too, aren't you? Proud that you got _through_ to me, proud of your little breakout. Do you think that _counts_ for something?" My heart pounds faster with every derisive syllable.

"I-" He cuts me off with a brutal glance.

" _You_ think you're different, that's why you came to me. You think you were made for me because you're a _pathological_ _masochist_ with an unstable personality and a broken moral compass. G _ee,_ I _wonder why_ \- it couldn't be that daddy made you feel like the _dirt_ you are-"

"I don't give a _fuck_ about him, I dealt with that." The sound of my own voice and the sudden stab of hurt shock me. I expect fury for my interruption but he only grins, planting his hands on the countertop on either side of me to box me in.

"S _ure_ ya did, kiddo." He chuckles. "You're absolutely _fine_ even though he skipped in and out of your life like an anorexic boxer- And what a wonderful role model he was, _using_ you and your mother for… what was it, whore money? Booze? Gambling? Doesn't matter. That's why you're here- because you're _oh_ so _fine_." He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger, and suddenly I'm eight years old, watching my father walk out the door with my piggy bank under his arm. He tells me it'll be our secret, and he calls me princess like he's giving me a gift instead of the other way around. Then he's just _gone_ , and I sit at the bottom of the stairs in the dark, feeling like less than nothing.

" _Daddy_ _issues_ , Harley. That's all you are." A pained gasp escapes me and he pauses, watching gleefully as the first tears push forward. "You're a pathetic fucking cry for help, and there are a _million_ of you. A million lost children who want approval from people who'll never give it to them." I turn my eyes down because I just can't look at him, I can't- He grabs my jaw and forces face up again.

"There was an ' _artist_ ' a few years ago who thought I was her _muse_ -" He sneers. "She thought she was different, _just_ - _like_ -you. I made her _feel_ different, I made her feel _special_ …" He tips his head to the side, scars coiling as the corners of his mouth stretch out. "And I fucked her." The weight of that statement sinks in and I feel like my whole body is crushing inward. " _She_ needed it to trust me, and trust… well, it's _just_ _so_ _important_ , isn't it?" He giggles, and each note pokes a hole in my chest, deflating my lungs. "Then I killed her. _Just_ like I'm going to kill you, and I'll forget your name like I forgot hers." He singsongs and my chest is heaving now, I can't feel anything but the ache of his awful words and I think I'm about to fall apart.

" _I'll even do it the same way,_ I'll wrap my hands around your throat and I'll _squeeze_ until your face turns purple and _ugly_ ," His grin is curdling into something wrathful and horrifying, voice rushing into a hiss. "Until the blood vessels _pop_ in your eyes and you _finally_ stop. Maybe I'll even forget that there were two of you!" He looks particularly pleased by the idea, baring white dagger teeth. "You'll just _blend_ together until everything is nicely averaged out." He grins again, a real one. "You know, come to think of it," He quirks an eyebrow, tapping his chin in mock reflection. "I don't even know how many of them there were before _her!"_ He giggles, and a sob finally bursts forward from my throat, cutting his laughter. My eyes squeeze shut reflexively at the outburst and the shame, the embarrassment, the utter _heartbreak_ pour through me so aggressively I think I might choke on them. Still, when he cups my bloodied cheek I press into the warmth of his palm.

"Oh _pooh_ ," He sighs, and the utterance is filled with all the begrudging affection I thought I had won. It's a parody now, a heartless analogue and it always has been- its everything I want and everything I'll never have and I'm not even angry; I'm just grateful for this final reprise. "Don't feel _too_ bad about it, you were at least a _little_ bit different." Somehow even now, despite the horrible ache that has paralyzed my lungs and larynx, I feel a thrum of hope in my chest. The knot in my throat loosens, and my tears slow as he lulls me into a cruel sense of calm.

"You want to know why?" He knows that his touch is comforting- he must, because he moves his hand to my throat so he can revive the ache. " _Because you were easy."_ He whispers. "You were happy to shatter, so I'm not going to fuck you." He laughs, cold and dry. It's a taunt as he tightens his grip, blocking off my airway so everything _burns. "_ I don't have to! You were _desperate_ enough to trust me without it."

 _Trust._

That word alone is the worst thing he's said, its worse than anything even _he_ could think of to do my body, because suddenly I'm standing in his old cell and he's pressing a Taser into my palm. He's asking if I trust him, and I _do,_ I _trust_ him even though I say I don't. I _love_ him, even though I won't admit it. He must have known back then that he was going to kill me. If I could breathe I might laugh at the foreshadowing, but all I can think about is the fact that I _still_ trust him, and this feeling is stronger than the pain of his fingers crushing the arteries in my neck.I don't trust him not to kill me; that would be ridiculous. I never really did, it's not that trivial. I trust him to do the _right_ thing and he always does- he only ever does what he wants. Right now, he wants to end me.

My vision spins and tunnels as my panicked lungs thrash against my ribs but it's nothing like the realization that I can't say sorry. Because I _did_ think I was different. I thought I got under his skin, that he was starting to _like_ me there- god I was so _arrogant_. I thought I deserved him, I _did_ , but not because I thought I needed to be punished- I thought I was good enough to make him happy, that I deserved to be gratified by _his_ happiness, by his anger and his intellect and his violence. Everything falls down and I sag in his grip, not bothering to try and hide the pain on my face or the tears rolling through my thick makeup as the pressure builds in my skull. Through the blur of salt water and the blood backing up to cloud the corners of my retina, I see his vicious grin, and even as his rejection rips through me like a spray of bullets, I think he's beautiful.

I strain to see that smile until I go completely blind, nothing but fireworks on a black background, the roaring in my ears and the hammering of my heart. I know it's selfish, I know it isn't fair but I just need _one_ more second with it and I'll be ready. It's so strangely _easy_ to reach up that I almost don't believe I've really done it, but then my fingers meet rippled scar tissue, and that is the last thing I feel before I fall away into absolutely nothing…

Then the universe explodes.

Air forces itself down my throat and I feel like I'm drowning in reverse, everything is shredded and raw and unbelievably _alive._ Bright flares burst violently in the darkness and I'm falling as the room bleeds in around me. I don't feel anything more than a vague thump when my body hits the floor because the crushing ache in my throat is deafening, and distantly, I realize that I'm staring at a pair of pale feet. I focus on them to pull away from the hurt, studying thin toes and bony ankles, a long scar crawling diagonally up a lean calf… at some point my chest has stops heaving and sound starts to bleed back in.

He's yelling but I can't grasp a single word- he _stopped_. He _didn't_ kill me.

I roll onto my back because it's all I can manage but I need to _look_ at him. His face is a livid blur and I'm absolutely lost, reeling and floundering as my heart fights to correct my blood pressure- _why_ did he _stop_? For a split second I feel irrationally awful for whatever I did to interrupt him but then I remember: he only ever does what he wants.

There's a rhythmic rattling hiss layering his acetic voice now, something coarse and rasping, and it isn't until I taste blood that I realize it's my laughter. I didn't ruin it; nothing _stopped_ him!

 _He just didn't really want to kill me._

A wild rush of lightness and heat fills my body, and a deluge of agonizing giggles push up from my belly. This is absolutely ridiculous. I'm cackling and coughing and it hurts but I can't stop. Tears are beginning to pour down my cheeks when he grabs my face, and my eyes snap open to see him blurred and overexposed.

" _Something_ _funny_? Hmm?" He's crouching over me, his face is inches away and his features are terrifyingly still- I shut my stupid mouth, but not without considerable effort. It's just that _he_ doesn't know why he didn't kill me. He'd never admit to wanting me around- not even to himself, and now is _not_ the time to laugh again- his eyes are ominously wide, and to be honest he looks like he's about to throw a tantrum. That's ok thought, I'm going to comfort him, I'm his psychiatrist. Yeah I might have had a couple _hiccups_ \- but it's still my job, and I'm damn good at it!

" _Oh_ , Mistah _J_ , I ain't laughin' at you! It's just…" I bite my lip. "I think I'm immortal." I can't help but crack a smile as his eyes flash from manic rage to rare confusion before settling for something oddly in the middle, and I realize belatedly that the bruising ache in my throat and lungs has disappeared because I'm floating on _him_ again.

"Y'know, I tried to overdose on sleeping pills once? 'Cept I ain't too good at swallowing pills, so I just kept puking 'em up- my mom found me passed out with my head in the toilet." I sigh into a bashful smile, like I've just confessed to having accidentally entered the men's washroom. He releases my jaw, planting his hands on the floor. Conveniently, and ever so casually, he drops his knees down to pin my wrists as his head tips sharply to the side.

" _Why_ in _gods_ name would you choose pills if you _knew_ you couldn't swallow them?" I'm beaming now and his eyebrows pinch together as he shakes his head, sitting back on his heels. "Honestly Harley, the real question is why you didn't just _drown_ yourself in the _toilet_."

"No for _serious_ , Mistah J!" I giggle and he rolls his eyes. "That was only the first try! Jumped off a' Gotham bridge after that, I was aiming for the shallow bit on the west side but I missed an' all I got was hypothermia. Then another time, I tried to hang myself cause it seemed more reliable, but the rope came loose an' I smacked my head on the bathtub, so I had to get stitches." I finish my soliloquy with vehemently wide eyes and he narrows his in response.

"Did you tie the noose properly?" It's clear that he wouldn't at all be surprised if I had tried to hang myself with liquorice lace _\- lets go with that._

"Yeah- _huh_!" I stick out my lower lip childishly. "I found a real useful page on Wikipedia."

"Harley..." He's raised one hand and he's got it draped over his eyes in apparent exasperation, but a muscle jumps in his cheek to reveal a dimple. "You used Wikipedia to research _suicide_ techniques? You-" he snorts, his hand falling away to reveal eyes that spark with startled humor. "Wiki _pedia_?"By the end of the word he's lost it. He's got his head tipped back and the laughter is ripping out of him, filling me and soothing every ache until I feel like I'm soaring on the sound of him, and it is _absolute_ _bliss_. Still suffering little bursts of wild giggles, he glances down at me and I put on a pout.

"Good girls don't make sour faces." He scolds but he's still grinning, and even though my hands are going numb under his knees I can't hold my grimace. "Don't get me wrong, its an F for execution but I'll give you at least a C for slapstick, so that's somethin' slugger." He chucks me on the chin, giving me a wink that comes close to making me lose consciousness again before he leans back, taking on a stoic expression.

"But in all seriousness, death is an _art_ , Harley- simply put, any dingbat can do it but it takes a savant to make it _special_. Perfecting other people's deaths is something I've always excelled at, but my _own_ death, needless to say, has been _in_ finitely more illusive than yours." His expression becomes stern, like he's daring me to challenge that- _as if I ever would._ His eyes switch from mine to the wash of blood and tears on my cheek.

"Most deaths are a pale croak and a long silence, but when _I_ kill, I make it special- When _I_ kill, I _immortalize_. I bleed angels and beggars and kings, and I hang them up to dry because _I_ won't remember them, but _someone_ will. The _act_ of death is the fun part- the kicking and screaming, choking on bile and trying to pull your brother down with you, _that's_ humanity. Death as an adjective is less fun- the big sleep, the proverbial final rest- its not rest, its _purgatory,_ it is everlasting silence, so why _not_ go out with a bang? It's the last thing you'll ever hear. For that matter, why not go out with a bang and a shockwave and a nuclear meltdown- why not leave the world _branded_ behind you. That's _my_ problem, see? I've done bombs, and gases, contaminated seafood and weaponized viruses- knives, guns and hands are old hat. So I get creative, I crush people, I burn them, I boil them, I hit them with cars and trucks, I've beheaded several people with a helicopter- it isn't that I'll be running out of ideas anytime soon, it's just that _my_ death should be _bigger_. Sometimes I wonder if I'm too selfless, you know? Giving away all the good finales." He sighs, dropping his chin into his hand and making his lower lip push out. "How do I top my _self_ \- what could _possibly_ be the Joker's last laugh?"

"Maybe _you_ should be immortal too." He looks somewhat surprised to find me still here, even though he's sitting squarely on my stomach. He stares quite blankly for a moment and then his mouth quirks into an odd little half-grin.

"Yeah I'll keep that one on the back-burner, kid. Now, as I was saying _before_ you interrupted me, I could do the Rasputin thing and evade a million murders only to bite it for something innocuous like hypo _thermia._ I suppose it does have a sort of cheeky wit, but I've already evaded a million murders so it doesn't seem like something to _strive_ for." His brow furrows. "King Edward II of England died by having a red-hot iron shoved up his poop-hole, the man who invented Segways drove one off a cliff, and then there's _Ronald Opus."_ He shakes his head. " Y'know he had daddy issues too? You two could have been _pals_." He chuckles, punching me 'playfully' in the shoulder with more enthusiasm than strictly necessary, then he props his elbows on his thighs and settles in. I officially can't feel my hands.

"See, Ronnie's daddy was an angry drunk, a real _stinker_ , and his favourite act was to take his unloaded shotgun off the wall and fire it at mommy's head. Of course, mommy was no saint either- the bitch was going to cut Ronnie off, and he couldn't have that could he? _Imagine_ \- her very own _son_!" He adjures, pressing a hand to his chest with the most scandalized expression. "The obvious solution was to get rid of her and milk daddy for the cash instead, but ol' Ron was _lazy_. He didn't want to get his hands dirty, so he popped a bullet in that habitually unloaded shotgun, and he waited for pops to make his entrance. And he waited… but pops didn't show, so Ronnie figured hey, why not jump out the fucking window. My cow of a mother is still alive and my pickled father has failed me yet again, _goodbye cruel world… "_ The speech is sarcastically impassioned, and I watch with rapt attention, keeping utterly still and completely silent.

"So Ronald jumped, not having noticed that there was as a safety net _just_ below the eighth floor- luckily for him though, daddy came home and grabbed old faithful, just like he always did. _Lucky_ for _Ronnie_ , daddy fired drunkenly at mommy, and the bullet went right out the open window _just_ as Ron-Ron was falling past." He pauses, eyes glassy and grin lopsided. "It's just _so_ _beautiful_ -" He laughs high and light, and I soar with it. "You can't orchestrate that kind of ending for yourself, that's _entropy_ \- or usually you can't. But sometimes entropy gives birth to absolute perfection, and you can just _see_ it, it's so obvious and it's right in front of you but you can't reach it because it _keeps pulling away. I_ t started you, it _has_ to finish you." His voice has dropped into a strange monotone that sends shivers down my back, and his eyes are unfocused under a heavy he blinks, and it's like nothings happened.

He goes on to detail the death of a man who sold himself to a cannibal, so I let his voice bath me in warmth. He tells me about David Phyall, who cut his own head off with a chainsaw because he was angry that his flat was being demolished, and Gina Lalapola, a stripper who suffocated inside a cake she was supposed to pop out of. He talks and laughs, and his hands dance so hypnotically above me that I find myself drifting. I am warm, and happy, and exactly where I'm supposed to be, and at some point, I fall asleep.

A violent shiver wracks my body, and I wake to darkness and panic.

The first thing I sleep is that I'm in my apartment, that I've just had an episode and he's still in Arkham- I leap to my feet and shuffle stiffly, but with great purpose toward the dim glow that filters through the bathroom door. At first I see the room in shadow, but then I make out his long body draped in blankets and my whole body relaxes. His feet are poking out at the bottom as he sprawls face down across the mattress, and his hair is tufted out to partially obscure rapidly twitching eyelids.

I feel like I'm melting and I fall in love all over again, right on the spot because every time I see him he's new and vibrant, and perfect, and he wants me- he just isn't ready to understand that yet. And that's ok, I can be sensitive- he's a special kinda guy, y'know? I can wait for more as long as I can keep having this, because it has its own intimacy, it's in the tension that builds as he pushes me, and the rush of emotion when I let him. It's the rhythm of us as he gives and I take, and we balance each other perfectly. We _do_ \- even if he doesn't see it yet.

When I let him kill me I was vulnerable; he was when he brought me back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note:** IM BACK KIDS! Sorry this chapter took so long, it was a bit of a doozy.

This one definitely isn't as exciting as the first, but then again Harley's whole life has been flipped upside down so some set up is required, I think (don't worry its still a lot of fun!) . I really want to examine how she makes her place in Joker's life so that starts here with a lil bit of house keeping!

On another note I wanted to let you know I may have some other shorter fics in the works- still Joker and Harley but set later in their relationship. So keep an eye out!

Its been so lovely to read your reviews for chapter one and I really can't express how much your support means to me 3 I hope I can keep making you proud!

Much love, Sewer Angel

 **Chapter 2: The new Suzy Homemaker**

The Joker-infamous mass murderer, psychopathic clown and all around Adonis- looks adorable when he sleeps. All I want to do is crawl in behind him and snuggle up, and I actually take a few steps before I manage to turn myself around and go back into the bathroom. Making as little noise as possible, I close the door behind me and I flick on the lights.

When my eyes adjust, I see someone in the mirror that is me and not me.

At least she's not what I _used_ to be- she wears a necklace of livid purple and blue with a strip of scarlet war paint on her cheek, and she looks like she's painfully alive, like she's on _fire_ from the inside. I strip out of my bloodied, shredded leather dress, and I take in the battle map on her body, the wide swatches on her arms where _he_ kneeled only hours ago, and I feel a new kind of pride.

I start trying to wrestle the elastics out of my matted hair, and I think about last night. I think about how angry he was, how he artfully worked me into hysterics before wrapping his hands around my neck for what we _both_ thought was going to be the last time. It was perfect, he _had_ me- there was no snapping rope, no one to interrupt and save me- I wasn't even going to save myself. He built a pyre for my immolation but then he turned me into a phoenix, he let me _rise_ from my ashes- I can't let that go to waste.

I'm grinning as I turn on the cold water, trying not to hum and giggle as I scrub away dried blood and smeared makeup. I watch the murky water run down the sink as I dry myself off, and it's an effort to move quietly- I want to skip and dance and sing but I can't wake him up; who knows when he got to bed last night? He obviously didn't realize that I fell asleep because he would have woken me up, and something tells me it would _not_ have been pleasant. I imagine him firing his gun next to my ear, the gleeful look on his face when I inevitably startle out of my slumber, and the thought stretches my smile so wide that my cheeks hurt as I pull my dress back on. Still aching and beaming I grab my backpack, switch the light off, and very carefully I open the door.

God, I don't think he could look any more enticing- he's flipped over onto his back, sprawling diagonally on the mattress with his legs hanging off the side and the blanket riding low on his hips. I swallow loudly, flinching at the sound. Miraculously he doesn't move, not a twitch apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest. I want to pull up a chair and watch him- I mean who _knows,_ the blankets could slip a little lower and they might reveal some…. very important information. For example, I could find out if he sleeps in his birthday suit! A related finding would be whether the carpets match the drapes- or if he has carpets at all- he doesn't seem to have any hair other than the stuff that grows on his head. Maybe he gets it waxed? For a split second I picture some bitch messing around in his nether regions and a wave of fire rushes up my esophagus. I get an irrational urge to _claim_ it somehow, _but that's not cool, Harley, that doesn't belong to you. Yet-_

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

His shout has me jumping out of my skin, and the panic washes away any trace of jealousy.

"I -"

"That's _my_ Lego, Batman." This statement pulls me up short, and I squint to see that his eyes are still closed- oh my god, he's _sleep_ talking! My heart melts and any residual tension leaves my body. I step a bit closer to see his twitching eyelids and the slack grin that curves his lips, and _god_ , I just want to touch him. Just a _little_ bit-

"Pshh- I can do that ten ways with my _toes_." With that stern dismissal he rolls over onto his stomach, the blanket slips a bit lower, and _holy_ _shit that's his ass._ I force myself to turn away, practically sprinting for the door- I'm not worried about being quiet anymore, I just need to get _out_ of here before I start hyperventilating.

"GET THE MAYO!" He shouts into the pillow and I lurch. "It's time to die, bitch." I slip out the door on that note, barely containing a deluge of nervous giggles as I close it behind me. On the other side of the door the air hits me like a bucket of ice water, but I still feel all warm and fuzzy so I don't even shiver as I skip back to the car.

Climbing into the drivers seat, I clean up as much of the mess as possible before attempting to hide the bruises with cover up. The effect is passable- if nothing else its less alarming, so I drag a brush through my hair before starting a hunt for clean clothes. I settle on a comfy pair of dark jeans and a loony toonz sweatshirt, but I can't bring myself to take off my special boots, so I leave them on even though they're still speckled with blood and dirt. I rummage around in the backseat for my makeup bag, and I put a little liquid bandage on my cheek before touching it up with concealer. I consider putting some on my neck bruises too, but that seems blasphemous so I grab a scarf to hide them instead.

The ache is sinking in now; it's a stiffness in my muscles and a throbbing in the places that swell with the leakage of burst blood vessels. I didn't feel it at all until I left him, and that's amazing, that's a _miracle_. I allow myself a moment of dreamy pining, and then I get to work on my plan.

On a good day in the asylum he sleeps for two to three hours, four if he's coming down from tranquilizers. I check the dashboard clock- it's a quarter past five but I don't know when he went to sleep so that doesn't tell me much. I debate the benefit of getting him breakfast against the risk of not being here when he wakes up, but I decide that it would be selfish to give the latter precedent, so I jam the key into the ignition and I hit the gas. I'm pretty sure I saw a 24-hour diner on the way here, so I head back in that direction and I find it 3 blocks down. A headache sets in when I open the door and the fluorescent light hits me, but I push through it, barely registering the odd look I get from the girl at the counter.

I order pancakes, French toast, and waffles. Eggs scrambled, sunny side up and over-easy with sides of bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast. When it comes to the drinks I pause to catch my breath before continuing on to request apple juice, orange juice, regular milk, chocolate milk, and coffee, and it would be _so_ nice if she could put packets of ketchup, butter, jam, marmalade and peanut butter in one of the bags as well. It might be a bit excessive but I don't know what he likes yet, so I want to cover all the bases.

I feel my anxiety build and hum as I sit at the counter and wait for my order. I start cataloguing everything that could go wrong- like maybe he won't want breakfast, or I won't have his favorite thing, or he'll sleep in and the food will be cold. Or he'll be gone when I get back and everything will be completely _ruined_. My pulse has set into a brisk jog by the time the girl comes out of the kitchen with an arm full of brown paper bags and two laden drink trays. When I get back to the car I load the bags into an emptied duffle and I take off at a pace that could be risky for someone who's got a warrant.

I spot the light from his room before I've pulled into the parking lot and there's a fresh spike of anxiety in my chest. I try to swallow it down with a sip of coffee but it come right back up with fun questions like: Do I knock on the door? What if he's not ready to come out? What if he thinks it's rude? But then what if he's waiting for me? My body moves without consulting my mind, and that's a good thing because I'm still shooting questions at myself- what if he's changed his mind? I get out of the car. What if he _really_ doesn't want me anymore? I walk up to the door and I raise my fist. My knuckles haven't even made contact when it swings open, and I find myself staring down the double-barrels of a sawed off shotgun.

J blocks the entrance, dressed again in the ill-fitting suit I got him and wearing what I'm quite sure is my lipstick- it looks better on him to be honest. He doesn't lower the gun, but he doesn't pull the trigger either- he just squints at me like I'm the last thing he expected to find on his doorstep. I don't dare move and my breath is dizzyingly shallow until his face clears, falling into something that speaks of vague irritation.

"Right. _That_." He mutters. I'm not entirely sure what he's referring to, but I find myself putting on a big toothy smile. His eyes narrow again, and I'm starting to think he might actually shoot me in the head- then he sniffs, and his glare switches down to the drink trays in my hands. "Well it's _about_ _time_."

He finally lowers the gun to grab the coffee tray and the duffle bag, nearly knocking the other tray out of my hands as he marches back into the room. I follow immediately but cautiously- come on, I _did_ just have shotgun in my face. He heads for the small table in the corner of the room, unzipping the duffel with such ferocity that I think it might rip as he empties it, pulling the Styrofoam containers out and collecting all the paper bags under his arm. Once he's got them all, he rushes over to rummage through the nightstand drawer and pulls out a pen with a triumphant ' _HA'_ before heading back to the table. He kicks the chair out, dropping into it without looking, and starts to rip the paper bags into ragged rectangles.

When he's got a nice little stack, he starts writing with his left hand, while the right reaches for one of the takeout boxes. He pops the lid and grabs a plastic knife, stabbing it into the top of a jam packet and lathering a few pieces of toast. His left hand is racing across the paper at light speed while his right searches through the other boxes, and then he grabs a handful of bacon, loading it onto a piece of jam coated toast and topping it with another to make a somewhat horrifying sandwich. He does all this without looking up from the paper he's been filling with near hieroglyphic shorthand and a series of dense calculations, and then he takes a great big bite of his sandwich. A glob of jam and grease drops onto the table but he doesn't notice that either, he just keeps scribbling until his pen rips a hole through several sheets of his paper.

It's not particularly surprising- I don't think I've seen anyone press that hard while writing and I'm honestly shocked that he hasn't broken the pen- but he lets out an aggravated roar, throwing his hands up and tossing the last third of the sandwich over his shoulder in the process. I dive for it instinctively, and I actually manage to catch it before hitting the floor. He doesn't look up at the sound of my crash or the subsequent skid, he just grumbles about how pointed writing implements are only good for stabbing people as he attempts to smooth out the rumpled bits of paper. I pick myself up still holding his goopy sandwich, and I'm not even sure if he wants it anymore.

He gets back to work as I lurk behind him trying not to get jam on my shirt, and to my great joy it only takes a few seconds for his free hand to start groping around the table. I hurry forward to put the sandwich next to his hand and he picks it up without any indication that he knows how it got there, going back to his automated munching. I watch him fill eight sheets of paper front to back as he ploughs through everything but the eggs, chasing it with coffee and chocolate milk. When he's done he leans back and looks over his work with an intense, laser like focus.

Then he tears the whole stack to shreds.

"What's wrong?" I blurt, jumping when he whips around and knocks his chair back in response to my query.

"What's _right_?" He snarls. "I had a good idea, _you_ showed up, and it turned to _shit-_ not entirely surprising given that you were _breathing_ down my neck the whole time." He yanks me forward by the collar. "You're a human tumor, you know that? It's like you're _sucking_ the life out of me just by being in the same room!"

My lip juts out because life is the _last_ thing I want to suck out of him, and I obviously I don't want to be a nuisance but if it weren't for _me,_ his unique breakfast creation would have ended up all over the floor! If it wasn't for me he wouldn't even _have_ breakfast, and he probably wouldn't have been able to work because of low blood sugar or something. See? I _am_ helpful.

His glare becomes all the more vitreous for my pout, but then there's a spark, a minute upward twitch of his eyebrow, and I can tell he's got an idea. He makes a calculated switch of expressions, his features moving into an irresistibly condescending patience. He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, and then he pulls the pen away.

" _Aw_ , punkin', I'm _sorry_." He bends to my level, bracing one hand on his knee and using the other to push my lower lip back into place. As usual his touch makes my mind go blank. "Daddy's being too mean _,_ isn't he?" I don't dare answer that, but I feel my eyebrows jump just the same. He seems to find that fairly entertaining, but he stays in character.

"After all, you put yourself in the line of _fire_ \- you could have been caught _dead_ to rights cracking me out of the cooler. Could have been locked up and disgraced- and to be honest you probably should be-" He adds with some seriousness. "But you bit the _bullet_!" He shakes his head in faux disgrace. "And what did I do? I took a cheap _shot_." An edge of sarcasm tempers his buoyant tone but his palms are warm on my shoulders and they're big, and the weight of them is obscenely comforting. "Well that's hardly fair is it?" He's really on a roll now. "Tearing poor little you down for the simple act of breathing- I can't very well expect you to _stop_ ; you can't even keep your mouth shut!"

"That's ok, Mistah J, _really_ -"

" _Nonsense_ \- I'm a grown man, Harleykins, I have to take responsibility for my actions, don't I? Gonna have to pull out the _big_ _guns_ if I want to make this one up- so what do you say, kiddo, _Is it about time to take you home?_ "

The offer is _way_ too good to be true, but he knows _just_ how close to stand, how to pitch his voice and how to look at me with enough interest to make my heart pound.

"For _real_ , Mistah J?" My voice cracks and my hands dart forward to clutch at his suit jacket. He chuckles at my enthusiasm and it seems genuine, which makes my heart soar because maybe we're moving along faster than I thought, and that's absolutely _no_ problem, I can _definitely_ get on board with that.

"Oh _,_ it's the _least_ can do." His grin stretches, his eyes narrow, and it's unmistakably sinister but he smells just as good as he did last night. _God_ , I just want to lean forward and- he spins me around by the shoulders and pushes me to the door before I can finish the thought.

" _You_ were the best doc I ever had! S _o_ attentive-" Ok so _that_ was definitely sarcastic but he's not wrong, and it's nice to know he noticed. "Hey Mister Joker," His sudden falsetto has me giggling as he steers me into the parking lot. "Here, have a key card, on me!" He deposits me next to the driver's side, and I'm fairly confident that he wants me to unlock the door. I'm going for my pocket when he slaps my hand away to dig into it himself, and I'm pretty sure I've stopped breathing because _wow_ that is just-

"How about some pudding cups, on the house?" He pulls the keys from the pocket of my jeans, tossing them up and catching them before jamming them into the lock and pulling the door open. "Oh and just in case you were feeling bored in the S.H.U, here's a gun- _you play nice now_ , no running!" I've taken half a step toward the car when he grabs my arm and yanks me forward, stuffing me into the drivers seat and ignoring my startled yelp.

" _You're_ full service- followed me right out of the bin!" He's starting to sound a bit manic now and I watch him open-mouthed as he marches around to the passenger side to wrench the door open. "All the other doctors had me thinking we needed _boundaries_ for an _appropriate therapeutic relationship,"_ His hands fly up for bunny ears as he folds himself into the seat. _"_ But you weren't afraid to go hands-on, _really_ get in there-" Suddenly my keys are flying at my face and I _just_ manage to snatch them before they smack me in the nose. "Freud would have _loved_ you."

He's half laughing, half growling, and his eyes are _very_ wide- it takes a few tries to push the key into the ignition because I'm a bit nervous about what he'll do if I look away. His eyebrow quirks and I peel my gaze off him, pinning it to the road as I pull out of the lot.

"Left!" He exclaims, and I take the directive with an automaticity that pleases me- it was a lot harder to keep up last night. "Did they screen you at _all_ when you applied to Arkham? Take a right when you get to Granville. Seriously- anything? MMPI? IPI? MCMI?" He rattles off psychiatric assessments and I feel my brow pull down.

"Yeah- _huh_ , an I passed em'! _Obviously_." I bite my lip the moment I've got the sentence out because it sounded _way_ too sassy- he chuckles.

"Good _lord-"_ He gasps with exuberant gravitas. _"_ If that's the case we're all doomed. _Oh_ that's beautiful," He claps his hands. "I thought Leland was at least semi-competent but sh- _Ha_! She was your _men_ tor!" He snorts then bursts out laughing, and I can't help but join in.

"Y'know I freaked out out in front of her?" This is _good_ \- it's good that he's laughing at me and I need to draw it out. "I cried an everything that night you-" suddenly I find my throat tight at the memory of his body pulled open on the operating table. "The night the Bat brought ya back."

He snickers at my abrupt change of tone, but then he sighs.

"Yeah… _that_ was a good night."

I really don't know what to say about that, but my throat constricts and I swallow hard. He doesn't seem to notice; still tittering happily as he leans forward to fiddle with the radio, singing five-second parody clips of each song before moving on.

" _Shot through the heart,"_ Bon Jovi's voice fills the car and J barks laughter, taking his finger off the scan button. _"And you're too late- darling, you give looove a BAD NAME!"_

He launches into a spirited air guitar rendition of the opening solo, and when the verse starts up he sings along, still cackling. I'm trying my best to keep my eyes on the road but he's a constant show, and I can't help stealing glances. He's turned towards me with his back against the passenger door- he's not wearing a seatbelt but I can't bring myself to say anything because he's _singing_ to _me_. He's switched most of the pronouns so that he's the loaded gun and I'm the one in 'chains of love' but I still feel like the luckiest girl on earth-

Suddenly he darts forward and I startle, my hands flying off the wheel just as he grabs it to pull us away from a car I had inadvertently veered for.

"Not the best time for _bumper_ _cars_ , Harl." He grits his teeth and his grip on the wheel pops the tendons in his hand as he pulls us into a right turn, but he forces a smile. Oddly that reaction does more to set me on edge than his anger would. Anger is predictable- this is just _weird_.

"I'm real sorry, Mistah J!" There's a note of panic in my voice but he doesn't react to it- usually I'd get a little twitch-smile for something like that, but he keeps his grip on the wheel and his eyes on the road. "It's just you're such a good singer and-"

"Its fine!" He's an aggressive kind of chipper. " _Don't worry about it._ My fault; I forgot that _children_ aren't supposed to _drive_."

"Heh, yeah..." I don't know why I said that. What am I doing?

He ignores my fidgeting, turning onto an abandoned lot without letting me touch the wheel at all. He parks and gets out with a strange, silent mechanicity that clenches around my lungs to make my breath shallow. I fucked up- I almost crashed us, we could have gotten arrested, _he_ could have been injured, _IfuckedupIfuckedup-_ his hand claps against my upper back and I find myself outside the car without any memory of having climbed out.

"C'mon, _kiddo_." He shoves me forward, following close behind. His tone has lost its tension, but when I peer over my shoulder to look at him I find him staring straight ahead, pupils unfocused and eyes too wide.

"Now, I know it doesn't look like much from the outside-" Actually it doesn't look like _anything_ \- there aren't even any other cars in the lot, and the only buildings around it are commercial. "But the inside's got more _character_ than daddy could beat into you." He chuckles, dropping to his heels beside a sewer grate in the middle of the lot.

He hooks his fingers into the slats, wrenching it open and disappearing into the darkness faster than I can say 'croc snacks'. I crouch to peer inside but I'm _really_ not feeling very good about this; I would follow him into a flaming trashcan if he decided to call it home but sewers are gross, and smelly, and _creepy_ -

" _Hi_ ya _Har_ ley!" It's a growl that would put pennywise to shame, and I jump when his face pops back into the light. "Aren't ya gonna say _hi_?"

"Uh-"

He huffs, and his hand closes like a vice around my ankle before he yanks me into the darkness. I smack various limbs and soft spots on the way down, and I'm expecting to land in stinky poo-water, so I'm pretty surprised when something smacks against my stomach and halts my descent. It takes me a few seconds to realize that he's slung me over his shoulder, but then I don't feel so scared anymore. I think I could spend the rest of my life in this exact position- also its pitch black and I can't even see my _fingers_ , never mind my surroundings. I have _no_ idea how he knows where he's going, but his pace is brisk and his gait is bouncy, so apparently he's quite sure of himself.

He marches on with nothing more than a jaunty whistle, skipping along a tune I don't recognize, and I really have no sense how far we've gone or how long we've been down here. My head is starting to throb- being held upside down will do that to a girl- so I focus on the rhythm of his footfalls instead. There's a distinct lack of splash to his steps, so thankfully my fears about poo-water appear to be unfounded.

"Its good to be _home."_ His voice echoes through the tunnel, sounding eerily disembodied. He takes a long inhale like he's trying to savour the smell down here, and its not as bad as I expected but its still not _pleasant-_ "Oh _sure_ , its nice to have a vacation every once and a while, but eventually you get tired of tranquilizers and straightjackets and you just want to get back so you can play with your new Lebenswecker." I'm not entirely sure, but I think that might be one of those yodeling outfits. "I think I'll try it out on an eyeball- I really don't know why bloodletting ever went out of fashion." Ok so he's not talking about dorky German shorts. "No, it doesn't actually _help_ anything, but its fun! Shouldn't that be enough?" He sighs. "Medicine's lost all its spontaneity. _Aha_! _"_

He stops abruptly and there's a little click before we're flooded with a glaring light that makes my eyes squeeze shut. I'm still blinking it away when he hauls me back over his should and plops me down with little ceremony. My head is spinning from the rush of blood, but once I manage to steady myself I find us at an apparent dead-end.

"Welcome to the lair, kiddo-" He's grinning over his shoulder, strutting over to the wall on the left side. "you just wait _right_ there, it'll be the perfect view." I'm just going to come out and say it- he's way too excited about this. As always though, his every emotion is explosively virulent, and I find myself unable to work up even a marginal worry. "-Great location, and talk about _bang_ for your _buck_!"

He flips a hidden panel in the brick and drills a combo into the keypad set behind it. A grinding screech startles my gaze away from his hands and towards the wall in front of me, which is starting to split down the center. A glance at the base of the wall reveals a relatively cleaner line of stone where the wall slides laterally on its tracks. Then I notice the giant red X that I'm standing on, and the rusty stain that it swims in.

"Hey Mistah J, waz this for?" Not thinking further than my own curiosity, I sidestep for a better look, glancing up at him just in time to see the exasperated slap of his palm over his eyes.

A concussive stutter rips the space between us, and my backward scramble is utter reflex as bullets fly inches from my nose. My foot lands on something that isn't quite floor- in fact it's rolling out from under me, and so is my foot. My view switches abruptly from the wall of whipping metal in front of me to the rounded stone ceiling above me, and my spine jars against the ground. The staccato rattle cuts out, and when my back stops screaming, I realize that I must have slipped on a bullet- they're all over the floor. I sit up and make a half-assed attempt to smooth out my pigtails, but then I get a load of the still-smoking gun pointed at me from a the end of the now visible hall ahead. It's massive- there are maybe six barrels, and it looks like one of the ones that rotates- what are they called again?

"Gatling gun!" I didn't mean to say that out loud, but I still find myself looking expectantly at J. He stares back for a moment, looking oddly defeated. Then he blinks into a frown.

"Are you expecting an award for naming random objects? I can do that too!" he points to the wall next to him. "Bricks." He points at the ground. "Bullets." He points at me. "Idiot." He says this with a sense of finality, crossing his arms. "See? _Not that hard_." With all the drama he can muster, he whirls away and storms off down the hall towards the Gatling gun.

I'm careful to watch out for the bullets and the shell casings on the floor but I also keep an eye on that gun. It looks kind of old, plus its bleeding knotted wire and lime green duct tape into a crudely cut hole in the floor, so I don't trust it not to act up. If that thing goes off again I'm going to have to be a hero and tackle Mistah J out of the way, and I don't think he'd like that too much. Luckily, we make it past the gun without incident and I manage to breathe for the split second it takes him to move towards next door, which is the normal kind with a handle.

Then I realize I'm about to enter the inner sanctum, he's taking me _home_ \- or as close as he can get to it.

None of his other doctors have gotten this far and I know I probably shouldn't call myself that anymore, but I don't know _what_ I am. I don't think I'm an employee, and he tried to make it very clear last night that he's not interested in anything more _hands_ _on_ \- I have my doubts about that, but still. What _am_ I? Harley Quinn, the Joker's…sort-of-pal? I feel a sting in my throat, so I swallow it down and I fix my eyes on his hands as he pushes open the door to reveal…a basement.

A very interesting basement, but a basement nonetheless. Its large and unfinished, filled to the brim with boxes of props and racks of costumes- they look old, and I wonder if they're his or if they happened to be here when he appropriated the space. He's already bounding up a set of rickety wooden stairs so I hasten to follow, blinking furiously against a flood of light when he reaches the top of the stairs and flicks on the lights. When I make it all the way up and out into the room above, I realize we're in an old theater and I start to grin. All the seats are still here- although some of them bear knives, blood, or bullet holes. The stage is a masterpiece of art deco filigree and frieze, replete with sumptuous red velvet curtains that hang closed- unsurprisingly, all of those are speckled with knives, blood and bullet holes too, but the curtains have been painted with a leering lavender smiley-face.

It's _perfect_.

I start to bounce with excitement because _holyshitholyshit,_ I'm _here!_ I hear a snort but by the time I turn I see J he's walking away again. I follow immediately- I'm starting to think he doesn't _want_ me to, but I'm going to do it anyway- I'm curious! I have to test the boundaries to find out where they are, don't I? He leads me- however reluctantly- through a door at the side of the theater, and down a series of hallways that culminate at a large set of doors. They bear an orderly little label that says 'Rehearsal Space A', but there's also a much larger, messier label in red spray-paint that says 'JOKER'S OFFICE: DO NOT DISTURB'. He pushes through those doors, and they slam shut with a locking click before I even manage to peek inside.

"Uh… ok, see ya later, Boss!" I say to the closed door. " _Love you!"_ I whisper. Then I blush.

After that, it all sets in.

I'm _alone_ , I'm in the Joker's headquarters, _and_ he's mad at me, _and_ I don't know what he wants me to be doing. I let out a huff and I feel a lot like I'm deflating, like all of my injuries from yesterday have decide to weigh in now, so I plop down against the wall outside his office. For a moment I feel very small and scared in a way that I _really_ don't like- this place seems to stretch out around me, nothing but the alien, the unknown, and I'm _terr_ ified _._ I'm not sure how long I sit there, but eventually my heart stops pounding and I get bored so I crawl over to the doors and I press my ear against them. I can't make anything out from the inside, so I get to my feet.

I take in the hall, the peeling green and gold geometric wallpaper, and the large sets of doors that cap the space to my left and to my right. The wall opposite J's office is also lined with doors- four of them to be exact, two on either side of the adjoining hall. These doors have labels that say 'Office' but the windows have been blacked out, and one of them says 'guest room' in a substance that looks suspiciously like blood. I giggle at that and I try the handle, but the moment the door creaks open I'm hit with a nauseating wall of stench that makes my eyes water. I slap a hand over my mouth and nose, forcing myself to hold the door open long enough to look inside. I immediately spot the source of the smell- its sort of all over the place. The corpse, that is.

I slam the door shut, trying to shake the smell from my skin and hair. Ok, so that is the kind of situation that can only get worse- as in it's extremely rotten and I can only assume that it will be completely liquid soon- but I'm going to deal with that later.

The other "offices" are significantly cleaner- although not overly so by any normal standard. They're unfurnished, blood stained rooms fitted with chains and manacles, each one equipped with a selection of tools- scalpels and hooks and hammers, oh my! Each one also boasts a record player, all completely mismatched- one of them looks like it's been around since the 70's, while another is pink and plastic. Unfortunately there aren't any records- obviously he's hiding a collection somewhere and the thought fills me with zealous excitement. I could spend hours listening to his music and I want to know it _all_ , every song and every lyric. I want to know what he listens to while he's in here playing and what he listens to when he's had a bad day. I want to know what songs make him dance, and what he sings in the shower, I want a life filled with his music.

That thought swells up inside me like a balloon, and I end up dancing over to the large doors to the left, which, quite anti-climactically, turn out to be locked. The ones at right end of the hall however, open onto darkness. In the distance I spot my reflection in shadow, outlined by the light spilling in behind me, and it takes me a moment to realize that it must be a mirror. That suspicion is confirmed when I turn on the lights- true to the placard on the door, it's a rehearsal space, but it' s cluttered with trash and many of the mirrors are smashed.

I look around and the balloon in my chest swells again- this place has _real_ possibility. I could clean this up in no time, and then...well who knows? That's the beauty of it. I'd have to ask of course, and isn't _that_ a terrifying thought- but I'm sure he wouldn't object to a little light dusting, he probably wouldn't even notice it!

I turn away with a grin, and this time I'm skipping as I head back through the joining hall and into the next. On the far wall of this hallway, there are six unlocked doors that say 'Dressing room'. They're little cookie-cutter rooms, each with its own bathroom, and like the rest of this place they're a bit rough around the edges. But the second room has a futon, the third has a vanity, and the fifth has intact mirrors and a bathtub that looks cleanable, so I'm in business. I wrestle the futon and vanity into the fifth room, and I take a look around my new space. So it's a bit garbage-chic right now, but all it needs is a scrub and a pop of color!

Satisfied with the progress I've made, I turn to continue my exploration. Down the hall to the left of the dressing rooms is a small, slightly blackened kitchen, which appears to be void of any actual food- the fridge is empty except for a jug of bleach and some cinnamon.

I'm not even going to _try_ to guess what that's about.

When I check the cupboards I find two cracked plates and a mug with a photo of a camera on it that says, "I shoot people, and I sometimes cut off their heads." I giggle at that. I also find a gigantic top-grade food processor that could probably retail at about five hundred dollars, and I'm confused about its presence until I realize that it could probably chop up a hand pretty good.

Connected to the kitchen is a lounge with a fat purple couch and a few mismatched chairs gathered around a low table. There's also collection of empty bottles in the corner, an empty pizza box with a dick drawn on it, and some discarded electronic device that's almost definitely broken, whatever it is. Somehow I think this area is primarily henchmen-domain. I forgot about _henchmen_.

A fresh spike of fear jabs into my chest because I have _no_ idea when they'll show up and I have no idea what the _fuck_ I'm supposed to expect! I've seen them before obviously, but I was under his protection at the time and I don't know if that still applies. What if they try to attack me- what if they ask why I'm _here_? I would have no idea what to say, and that's enough to pop my chest balloon. I deflate all over again only this time I do it violently, and suddenly I'm heaving sobs. My heart is pounding and I'm choking on my tears as bitter panic clogs my throat, and oh _god_ what if he hears me?

I find myself racing from the lounge, muffling my cries into the crook of my arm until I burst through a black door across the hall and into the still darkness of the backstage area. I sit down hard the moment the door closes behind me, curling into a ball and pouring the rest of my tears onto the floor. As the sobs begin to subside I remember another time I lay on the floor crying. I remember huddling up in that fort I made in my old apartment, feeling alone and helplessly scared because I didn't know where he was or if he was even still alive. I was _so_ far away from him, and all I wanted was proximity but I was reaching through bars and it felt hopeless. I never _dreamed_ that I could actually pull off a breakout, that I could end up in his _home_ worrying about how to act when I formally meet the henches. But I _am-_ I'm here despite the fact that he tried to kill me last night, and I can only interpret that as divine intervention. I'm supposed to be here, I was _made_ for this. I might not know exactly _how_ yet, but he needs me. I just need to stop being a baby and make myself useful.

Why not start with food?

He might not want me around but he _has_ to eat, and since there's next to nothing in the kitchen I doubt his office is particularly well stocked. If I start to take care of that for him, he'll associate me with something good- _sustenance_ \- and he'll warm up to me whether he intends to or not. It's just like socializing a feral cat! First you feed them and you let them get used to you being around, then you use the food to lure them closer until eventually they let you pet them. Sure, you might get a few scratches but the payoff is great, and you might find out that you _really_ like getting scratched- ok so this isn't _exactly_ like socializing feral cats, but you get the drift.

Armed with this battle plan, I hop down from the stage and I march to the basement stairs at the back of the theater. I dig out my phone when I reach the bottom, using its bluish glow to locate the switch for the single bulb that hangs from the ceiling. This second sweep of the subterranean trove, confirms that I was right about this stuff not being part of J's personal collection. For one there's not nearly enough blood, but these clothes aren't really his style either- the racks are stuffed with Shakespearian gowns and breeches, fringed flapper dresses and Gatsby-type suits in greys and neutrals. There's also a myriad of props and a whole box full of still packaged wigs. I know I didn't come down here to look around- I'm supposed to be on a mission. Then again, the G.C.P.D put out an A.P.B on a blonde girl my height. That isn't much to go on but Harleen Quinzel has probably been reported missing by now, so it wouldn't be great to get recognized- a wig might be just what the doctor ordered. I dig into the box, snatching anything that isn't yellow- most of them vary only in shades of brown, but then I pull an auburn bob and I know the search is over. I tear open the plastic and I comb my fingers through the silky red strands- I'll never pull it off like Ivy but I think I'd still make a real cute ginger.

I'm thinking about how badass she was with her giant plant monster when I remember how we left things. She _attacked_ me, she attacked my _J-_ that was really uncalled for. I mean honestly, what can she possibly have against him? She doesn't even _know_ him. Sure, he doesn't get the best press but I'd think she of all people could be sympathetic to that. Gotham Gossip has been making jokes about her fondness for bushes since she first appeared- it isn't that there's anything _wrong_ with liking bushes, it's just that they make it _seem_ like there is. Same thing with Mistah J!

I un-ball my fists, releasing a clump of synthetic hair I'd been close to ripping out, and I take a deep breath. Ivy is just going to have to apologize, that's all. There's nothing more to it.

I braid my hair back to tuck it under the wig, and I tug it on before pulling out my phone for a check in the front facing camera. I was right- I _do_ look cute, so I leave it on, and I head for the Gatling room. I side-step the turret with extreme caution, keeping close to the wall until I reach the thin stretch of brick that borders the sliding steel doors. I start searching for a security panel under the assumption that it matches the one on the other side, so I end up messing around with a few normal bricks before finding the one that flips up. Underneath is a numbered keypad, and for a moment I'm entirely stumped- I definitely did _not_ manage to catch the combo when he punched it in. Its ok, its _fine_ , I'll figure it out; there are lots of ways to get around this. I could look for another exit! Granted, the front doors were completely barricaded, and I didn't see anything else that looked exit-ish… I wrack my mind for another option, because _this_ can't be the nail in my coffin, _this_ can't stop me from making myself useful, but I've got absolutely _nothing_ \- zip, zilch, fucking nada! My knees wobble, and I let myself plop down to the floor with a pitifully high-pitched roar of utter frustration.

"FUCK YOU!" I yell, mostly at myself.

The sound bounces around the brick cell to slap me in the face and I slouch over to let myself dissolve in self- deprecation. The movement jostles the backpack I forgot I was wearing, and the clinking draws my attention. Invigorated by a sudden jolt of hope, I tear the straps from my shoulders and I dump it out onto the ground. Loose ammo and makeup flies everywhere, along with my ol' faithful MP9 and a handful of neon Band-Aids. I snatch up a tin of loose powder and I dump a mound of the stuff into my palm- I mean sure, they say not to believe the stuff you see in action movies but some of it's gotta be true, right?

Squeezing my eyes shut like I'm making a wish, I lift my hand and I blow the powder at the number pad... and it _fucking_ _sticks_!

I screech, punching the air and showering myself with iridescent dust in the process. I sneeze, and then I giggle, doing a happy dance to shake it off, and then digging out a makeup brush to try and clear off the excess powder. In the end, I'm left with four numbers, so I key them in and I wait with bated breath- it's just occurred to me that he might have wired the correct code to activate the turret as well as the door. A metallic whir is all it takes to send me shooting though the doorway- I press myself against the wall, waiting for a rain of bullets that never comes, and it takes me a second to clue in that the vintage gun has run out of ammo.

I cough out a laugh as I jot down the code and clean off the keypad, then I switch on my phone light and I turn to the dark stone passage.

It's colder and mustier without him here, and the shadows seem a lot more menacing- this thin LED light _really_ isn't enough for this level of not-cool. I keep imaging some horrible creature clawing its way toward me through the darkness so I'm giddy with relief when I finally reach the sewer grate entrance. I peek up through it, checking for witnesses before I pop up into the relatively clearer air in the lot above. The walk back to my car is strangely surreal because without him here it almost feels like none of it happened, like I'm going to get in and drive back to my apartment to wallow about how I'm not with him.

Reflexively, I press fingers to the bruise that collars my neck and I breathe into the grounding ache. Then, clear and full of purpose, I pop the trunk and I grab a change of clothes. I'm aiming for discrete, so I grab dark jeans and a high necked sweater to cover my throat. I pull them on in the back seat before readjusting my wig and checking the state of the cut on my cheek in the rearview mirror. After a few moments deliberation I add a bit more concealer and a pair of sunglasses, then I get back out to start carting my bags into the theater.

It takes five trips.

Five _fucking_ trips _back_ and _forth_ through that surprisingly long and ever dingy tunnel. I'm both exhausted and starving by the time my trunk is empty, so it's a struggle not to speed when I finally start the engine. The first stop I make is at the nearest Wal-Mart, where I promptly buy 3 chocolate bars and devour them while perusing the cleaning supplies. With a cart half-full of industrial solvents and scrub brushes I head over to the home section where I impulsively purchase a full compliment of hello-kitty themed bathroom accessories. I top it off with the corresponding bedroom-décor items and then I go to the kitchen section, because you can't make grilled cheese with a food processor. The woman at the checkout asks if I'm starting university, which I find mildly hilarious. Naturally, I pretend that I am, and this prompts an earnest speech about how this is going to be the best time of my life, and I shouldn't feel nervous because I seem like a very bright young girl. In spite of my earlier mockery, my gratitude for the sentiment is sincere as I hand over a fat wad of cash.

Next stop: Grocery store.

This one is a real doozy. I end up standing frozen in the entrance with the realization that I'm not sure I even know what he likes to eat- well aside from junk food. That gives me some direction so I stop in the snack aisle and I stock up on candy and chips, looking anything I saw him eat from the vending machines haul last night. Suddenly inspired, I go for breakfast foods next because I saw him eat breakfast this morning, and I gave him a _lot_ of options. I get pancake mix, bacon and every flavor of jam I can find because he likes to mix them together. I buy orange juice and chocolate milk, and regular milk for coffee, and fruit loops (those are for me). At this point I'm feeling good, I'm feeling _intuitive_ so I embark on a food-gathering extravaganza that could put fat bastard to shame.

This time I have to make eight trips through the tunnel of lost souls, but I do it with a bounce in my step and some very bad renditions of lady gaga songs on my lips, so I'm feeling good. At least I am until I get everything inside and realize how much I have to do- by the time I've stocked and organized the kitchen it's 4 pm, so it's too late to bring J lunch and too early to pass something off as dinner... While I hate that he's missed a meal, I'm glad for the extra time- it's only just occurred to me that I'm going to have to _bother_ him if I want to bring him food. I'm going to have to walk right up to the doors of his office and what- _knock_? I imagine doing just that, and my mind completes the image by sending a bullet through the doors and right between my eyes.

 _Yeah, my odds aren't great._

But he needs to eat, and even if he's angry with me for bugging him, he'll be glad I brought dinner- right? It's the best I can hope for, so I cling to that as I scrub my new bathroom raw with Clorox. By the time the tub and sink are mostly white my hands are an angry, abraded red, and I'm dizzy from the fumes I've been sucking in so I make my leave to start on the bedroom. I vacuum everything including the futon several times over, following up with a wipe-down for the floors and vanity. When everything looks passably clean I pull the futon into its flat position to find that it's about the size of a double, which means my new pink sheets will fit perfectly. All tucked in with a crisp hello-kitty comforter and a heap of beanie babies that I didn't _strictly_ need to buy, my new bed looks absolutely mouth-watering. I throw myself onto it, and I'm struck with the realization that this really is _my_ bed now. This is where I'm going to sleep every night- although hopefully not for too long.

Is this bed just about the cutest thing ever? Yes. But I _know_ I'd be happier wherever J sleeps. Seriously- if I found out he saws logs on a bed of nails, I'd cuddle up right next to him. I used to watch him sleeping when he was still at Arkham, hours of footage playing on loop as I lay in bed, trying to pretend I was falling asleep with him. I might not be there _yet_ , but at least I'm one step closer.

At some point I force myself up to stock the bathroom with toiletries and the vanity with makeup, and then I realize that I don't have anywhere to put my clothes. I stew about it for a moment before I remember the clothing racks in the basement so I head out into the theater area. I'm about halfway to the stairs when I spot a bronze plaque on the wall, and it occurs to me that I might want to know where I am- the tunnel is fairly long, so can't be entirely sure how close the exit point is to the actual theater, but I have a hunch. I know name immediately- Janus Theater.

 _This place is famous!_

Actually, infamous might be a better description- this is Gotham's area 51, our Bermuda triangle, our very own mystery spot. Anyone you ask about it will tell you a different story: it's haunted, it's cursed, it hides a portal to another dimension and _sometimes_ things slip through… I never really believed any of it- in Gotham the horrors show their faces, so it didn't seem possible that something real could be down there taking other names. That didn't stop me from obsessing though; people _had_ died here- a lot of people, in fact. Far too many for strict coincidence.

It all started in 1898 with a young man named Albert Von Fitz, who erected the theater in the name of love- or at least with the hope that he might win it. The object of our lover boy's affection was Clara Sinclair, who, quite un-coincidentally had dreams of becoming an actress. Albert had a wealthy family, so he poured money into sets and costumes, he hired the best technicians he could find, and he even used his fathers connections to bring in a big name from oversea. The effort paid off, and the Von Fitz Theater was a success, opening its doors to rabid crowds night after night with Clara in the limelight as Ophelia or Juliet.

Only then did Albert realize his mistake- he was not an actor. He'd never pretended to be otherwise, but he'd thought that his nearness to Clara would be enough to woo her. He had never considered that Clara might feel _nearer_ to one of her co-stars, and unfortunately the Oberon to Clara's Titania was none other than Jack Wilder- that big name from oversea. He watched from the sidelines as Jack and Clara grew closer through rehearsals and hours of one on one practice in the studio, and eventually, Albert decided to kill Jack. It was only natural, wasn't it? The competition had to be eliminated, so he waited for the opening night of _Von Fitz Theater's Macbeth_ , and he rigged a sandbag. Everything went perfectly- the rope tethering the bag snapped in the middle of the third act, crushing the scoundrel where he stood obediently on his mark. Finally Jack was dead and Albert was free to be with Clara _forever._

Clara had other plans.

Oh _sure_ she was pretty girl but she was clever too- she knew Albert had his eyes on her since the day they'd met and she'd played along because it had got her far enough to ride someone else's coat tails. Jack wasn't just her lover, oh no- he was her ticket to stardom, and Albert had crushed that future with a single wayward sandbag. Clara was a pretty girl, but she was vicious too, and she'd never been one to go down alone.

So she waited until the police had left, and she went crying to Albert's office. He was so overjoyed that he didn't notice the letter opener in her hand until it was protruding from his throat.

Clara didn't make it far before the law caught up with her, and the press was close behind. They ate her up because she was a pretty girl, a sweet, scorned flower on death row. On the stand she sat in black, dewing dainty tears and vowing her love for Jack, meek and remorseful as she explained that grief had taken her will and her senses. Pleading god and the jury for mercy she found salvation in victimhood and she was a _sensation_.

Clara was acquitted in 1905, going on to a series of hit shows about the night she thought she lost everything while the Von Fitz Theater sat empty and falling into disrepair.

It wasn't until 1925 that the property was purchased by the Sabatino family, who had both hands in the bootlegging business, and were looking for legitimate businesses to sell from on the side. So they reopened the place under the same name, running half assed productions and getting their clientele loaded. It was a good racket, but the better the racket the bigger the fall, and this one was a _doozy._

On December 13th 1928, Gotham emergency services recorded a call from a woman inside the Von Fitz Theater, screaming that every one was dead. As it turned out, she was wrong- exactly six people were alive, and none of them had been drinking that night. Upon searching the premises, the GCPD seized large quantities of illegal liquor- although they failed to discover the tunnel downstairs, which had to have been built to smuggle it in. Officially the event was declared mass poisoning and passed off as mob activity, but suspicion remained, and the theater's ominous reputation grew, because the police never stated _what_ the poison had been.

Of course there are people who think the alcohol must have been improperly distilled or accidentally tainted, and others think that forensic science just wasn't advanced enough at the time to detect which ever toxic agent had been used. But _some_ people think that nothing was detected because there was nothing to detect. That those deaths were a cleansing sweep by gods hand, a miniature rapture for the hedonists of the jazz age, or that they came at the wrath of Albert Von Fitz and Jack Wilder, who must surely be haunting the place, locked in anguish for the loss of a lady who had long since moved on. Still others think that the theater's bloody baptism imbued it with Aokigahara type magnetism that attracts death simply by existing, like a black hole right in the middle of the city.

No matter which hypothesis you clung to, the Von Fitz was bad juju.

Nobody wanted to touch the lot, not even to bulldoze it, so it just sat there vacant and dressed in aging 'for sale' signs until 1968, when it was sold for nearly less than nothing to a man who introduced himself as Donny Damage. Mr Damage was a cinephile with a taste for the kind of footage that wouldn't play at your local picture theater, and he was naturally attracted to the Von Fitz's dubious past. The next year, Donny re-opened as the Janus Theater, a projection house for giallo films and Hitchcock marathons. He did fairly well, drawing in cult crowds while remaining small enough to avoid public damnation for giving teenagers access to that kind of fetishized gore. He had a regular audience, and that kept him afloat- everyone said he seemed perfectly happy before they found him hanging from the lighting rafters.

That one was officially declared a suicide, but only after a long and very fruitless investigation that which served quite successfully to enhance the newly dubbed Janus Theater's hostile mythos. It's been 'abandoned' ever since, sealed up again and never touched because it was in the Narrows anyway- it could be forgotten if it weren't so completely alive in legend. It's a story told at sleepovers and summer camps, and sometimes, people get dared to go inside.

 _Sometimes_ they don't come back.

No, I'm not kidding, and that last bit makes a lot more sense knowing who's taken residence here. The best part is, no one ever believes the kids friends when they tell the cops that the Janus took their bro- Occam's razor, right? Why blame the mystery theater when there are human traffickers in one direction and Two-Face in the other? In Gotham most monsters like to show themselves off, so this is absolutely _price_ less.

I turn slowly from the plaque to stare up at the stage, suddenly seeing Donny Damage swaying from his noose, Jack Wilder in a pile of blood and bits below him. I feel a strange, chilled sort of awe that pricks Goosebumps up my arms as I walk between the seats. I see skinny girls in pearls and beaded dresses lying lifeless next to dapper men in suits and hats, and they're _everywhere-_ I see teenagers in hoodies and jeans protruding knives and axes, dismembered and strewn-

I start to back away, but just because I got stuff to do- I ain't afraid of no ghosts. I don't even _believe_ in ghosts! Sure, I _hope_ they exist just for the hell of it, but I'm a _Doctor_ , I'm a rational person. I'm fine, and I am _not_ going to run to the basement. I feel a bit weird when I get down there and it it finally occurs to me that these costumes must have been from Von Fitz or the Sabatinos- but they've been gone for a long time! And theres no such thing as ghosts. Still, muscle clenches around my spine and it takes a mental shove to reach out and touch a garment.

 _You're being ridiculous-_ it becomes a mantra as I start to clear the rack. The only threat in this place is alive and extremely handsome. He's also probably hungry, and that thought kicks me into gear. I haul the clothing rack back to my room, and then I descend on the kitchen to tackle dinner. This moment feels terrifyingly momentous, like this meal is going to set the stage for the rest of our relationship and I need to pick the _exact_ right thing or it will all be ruined. After a lot of useless opening and closing cupboard doors I decide the first meal needs to be _poetic-_ obviously I'm going to make grilled cheese.

That was the first thing I ever made him and he devoured three of them with a side of hot sauce, not even pausing to reprimand me for burning the last one. I won't burn them this time though, they're going to be flawless, they're going to be the best godamn grilled cheeses he's ever tasted! But it can't _just_ be grilled cheese, he's obviously very busy with whatever it is that he's got in there so he needs _sustenance_. I pop fries into the oven and then I start slicing cheddar. Once I've got the sandwich in the pan I turn to the fridge, debating the addition of veggies just to round things out. For some reason the idea seems dicey but I end up making a smiley face with a carrot smile and cherry tomato eyes anyways- he has to get vitamins somewhere, doesn't he? And it's not like I can force him to eat them. I add a bowl of chips and another of the sour gummy worms he seemed partial to, along with a slice of pie. I _might_ be compensating for the vegetables.

Grilled cheese number two is nice and gooey-golden by the time the fries are done, so I load everything onto my new purple serving tray, and I walk with gripping caution to the big double doors at the back of the theater.


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors note** : HEY GUYS I'M BACK!

I really am sorry about the massive delay but sometimes life smacks you in the face! Anyways, I'm doing much better and I promise that I will keep working on this fic- even if the next chapter takes a year to write there _will_ be a next chapter. Don't worry, I don't _actually_ think the next chapter will take that long, I just can't really give you a good update schedule.

A lot of songs are mentioned in this fic so I'm going to do my best to list them all here- I really do recommend giving them a listen, they're very carefully chosen.

Songs: 'Lovefool' by The Cardigans, 'You rascal, you' by Louis Prima, 'Love me with all of your heart' by The Bachelors, 'The snake' by Al Wilson, and '(you're the) devil in disguise' by Elvis

Also the book Harley is reading at the end of the chapter is totally real, and although I couldn't find a copy to figure out what it's about, the cover was inspiring enough that I had to include it. So yeah, go google 'the hungry ones' by Craig Douglas if you want to have a laugh.

As always, let me know what you guys think and thank you so much for all the favorites and reviews- you guys keep me going when I start to think I'm a horrible writer. Again, I'm sorry for making you wait so long but I'm glad to be back and I hope this chapter is an ok comeback!

Much love, Sewer Angel

 **Chapter 3: Giving up the ghost**

 _This is it, this is the first trial._

I stand in front of his office doors with unsteady knees and a pounding heart. It shouldn't be this hard- all I really have to do is knock. _And_ interrupt whatever it is he's got going on in there, which might make him _really_ angry. But I _have_ to! You can't succeed unless you take risks, and risk is part of his charm, isn't it?

Scratch that- he _is_ risk, and risk is the essence of charm, risk is _mouth-watering_.

I lift my hand and I rap my knuckles twice against the wood- I swear time goes still at the first knock, but somehow I manage to make a second before the fear really hits me and my hand falls to my side. I listen hard for something- _anything,_ barely moving or breathing, wishing I could slow my heartbeat to soften its pounding. I wait there for what seems like an eternity, and eventually my legs stop shaking. Maybe he didn't hear me? It's not as hard to knock this time but my pulse jumps just the same and the wait is still painfully tense. No response.

"Got some food for ya' Puddin'!" _Shit._ "Uh- I mean Mistah J!" This time I'm almost happy that he's decided to ignore me- _god_ , what a stupid slip up.

I find myself sitting at the base of his door with the tray of cooling food on my lap, a weight settling onto my shoulders- he's not going to respond, I know that now. _He doesn't want my grilled cheese._ That thought makes my chest lurch, but I swallow it down- I'm not going to freak out again today. I'm being ridiculous- so _what_ if he isn't hungry right now? I'll leave the food here and I'll try again for breakfast; I'm not _desperate_. But I'm still going to sit here for a while. Just in case. So I set the tray down next to me, I tuck my knees up, I tip my head back against the wall and I close my eyes. I try to imagine him in there, hunched over reams of scribbled paper, writing madly like he did in the motel room this morning. That image gives way to one of his sleeping face, blue moonlight dappling white skin. And his _ass_ – I saw his ass!

My face heats and I remember lying on the bathroom floor looking up at him, his chest bared and scarred, his hand around my neck- and _oh my god I can't sit here anymore_ , I need a _time out_. I rush back to my room and I rip through my still-packed bags in search of my _personal massager_ \- an embarrassingly short amount of time later I'm sweaty, panting, and utterly blissful. Sleep wraps around me like a cashmere blanket and I fall into it gratefully. It's been a _really_ long day…

...

...

I'm not fully aware that I've woken up until I register the sound of someone walking slowly past my door.

Each step creaks through the wooden floorboards to pluck at my nerves, and suddenly this room feels unbearably unprotected. I've got my eyes wide open but there are no windows so it's pitch black without the lights on. It's the kind of black that twists itself against under-stimulated retinas, giving flesh to cryptid shadows that pin you motionless. I've pulled my duvet all the way up now and the footsteps have passed but I can still hear...something. Every note of white noise is amplified and warped to the point of being unrecognizable, and it pricks at my auditory cortex with ambiguous threat, demanding manic attention- Oh my god, I need to _stop._

I'm freaking myself out, that's all! I'm being silly, it was probably just J; I mean he can't stay in that office _all_ the time, right?

…But what if it _isn't._

What if the stories about this place are true? What if a vengeful Albert Von Fitz is drifting around out there in search of a Clara to torment? Even if it isn't Albert this place has seen an uncanny amount of death so there isn't exactly a shortage of ghosts to choose from- what if they're _all_ still here? Maybe I was wrong to dismiss the occult theories; maybe the theater really _is_ cursed, and if you die here you get trapped- oh _god_. Suddenly I can picture them crowding the hall outside my door, all facing the wall like they can see _through_ it and I'm terrified that if I show _any_ signs of life they'll come rushing in- _Fuck._

My heart is pounding, why the _hell_ did I let myself think about this? You don't tell yourself scary stories before bed; it's just a bad idea! _D_ _eep breaths Harley, you were right before, it's just J_. He probably walked past my room on his way to the kitchen- maybe he found the food I left and wanted to heat it up! Or maybe he just wanted to get a knife. Maybe _he's_ standing outside the door right now- what if _he_ comes in _?_ There's a tingle in my lower belly and I roll over to smush my face against the pillow.

Well, at least I'm not _scared_ anymore.

That said, the fear has been replaced by something even less compatible with sleep, so now seems like as good a time as any for round two in the ring with me and my imaginary Puddin'. I'm afraid I'll end up with tendonitis in my right hand if I keep this up- and _goddamn_ if that isn't an incredibly depressing thought. Patience seemed more reasonable goal back in the motel room where I could hear him, and smell him and watch him sleep… Here it's like Disneyland is _right_ on the other side of his office door, only I'm six and I can't reach the doorknob, His proximity burying itself under my skin like a tick, wriggling and biting to keep me from forgetting.

In other words, it fucking _sucks._

I try to ignore those thoughts as I tug down my pajama shorts and get to work, but they hang on the edge of my consciousness all the way into and out of my little joy ride- which is incredibly _rude_ if you ask me. So now I'm just _lying_ here, fidgeting because I can't stop thinking about how lucky I was to have at least one night with him, and how much I hate being alone in here. At this point I've come to terms with the fact that I will not be getting any more sleep, so I turn on the light and I roll out of bed to unpack the rest of my stuff.

I'm halfway through the last bag when I find the thick manila envelope I filled with cutouts, so I abandon the rest of the bag to plaster his face on my walls with sticky tack. I've got mugshots and grainy GCN shots of him in the distance or being shoved into a squad car. There are aerial images taken back when they used to let him in the yard at Arkham and a selection of screen grabs from his security reel appearances- but my favorites are the ones he takes himself. Not that he's been taking selfies, I'm talking about the _films_ he shoots and stars in, the ones that get taken down from YouTube in a matter of minutes only to pop up on gore sites and the shadiest corners of reddit.

He looks the happiest in those, like a kid with both hands in the cookie jar- or a clown with both hands in the abdominal cavity. Either way it's adorable, and by the time the envelope is empty he's looking down at me from every angle. For a second I sit in the middle of my bed grinning stupidly at my new wallpaper, but then the rude thoughts bleed back in and I realize that I'm going to have to leave this room eventually, if only for a distraction. I glance at the door and the anxiety hits like a truck- _what if he's still out there_?

Don't get me wrong, I want him so badly that I'd probably cut off my own nose for a bit of face time, but paradoxically I'm suddenly terrified to try and actually _talk_ to him. It's like I've forgotten the months we spent chatting in therapy room 4C, because this feels like one of those paralytic grade school crushes, the kind that can lock your vocal cords and knock out your knees in one fell swoop. And it's not just me, things are _different_ now. We aren't on my turf anymore- not that we ever really were, but at least in Arkham I felt a degree of agency. Now It's like I've leveled up and I've got a whole new set of moves to learn if I want to avoid the _game over_ screen. There's a cold weight building in my stomach and if I keep focusing on it I'll end up stuck to the floor, so I force activity.

I shove myself into the shower, I moisturize, I do my hair up in pigtails, and by the time I get around to swiping on bit of makeup the weight has eased enough to be ignorable. So I fuss over clothing- I want to look cute in a _hot_ way, and I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard. But I also need to look like I'm trying _enough,_ and it needs to be quirky but not in a _stupid_ way- _Get it together Harls._

I give myself a few wake-up slaps in the face before looking down at myself to take inventory. Well, at least I've got underwear on- that's a start, right? I just need to be logical about this! It's the morning, so if I want to look effortlessly cute then obviously my only option is… a nightie? I've got a flouncy pink A-line number that Ash found in a vintage store, but as soon as I put it on I feel silly, so I veer in the other direction and end up in a great big hoodie with bunny ears and a pair of heart-print PJ shorts.

I feel like I'm wearing fleece armour as I walk to the door, but the click as I turn the knob is still unnaturally thunderous. The door creaks open to reveal a darkened hall, and I cautiously reach an arm out to flick the lights on before I let my body follow. I stand there for a second, holding my bedroom door open as I look and listen for any signs of Joker activity.

And _ok,_ I'm not _proud_ but I might also be checking for ghosts.

I _do_ start walking once I've managed to convince myself that there aren't any supernatural being in the vicinity- but I still take each step like there might be mines planted under the tiles. Luckily I make it to the kitchen without exploding, but I'm also increasingly sure that I've missed J, which, despite my earlier anxiety makes me feel about fifty pounds heavier.

So I start on Pancakes. They're the kind from a box and I still manage to ruin the first batch but the second comes out semi-normal. I make a couple classic circle-shaped ones for practice and then I make a J shaped one, and a little smiley face, and then I waste the rest of the batter trying to make a bat-symbol. Most of them are completely unrecognizable, but the last one is basically a stroke of genius, so I pile the best ones onto a plate, and I pop them into the oven to keep warm. Next are eggs, bacon, toast, and assuming he's going to combine the last two items, a variety of jams as well, along with butter and maple syrup for the pancakes. The finishing touch is a French press full of coffee, and a big glass of chocolate milk, which he seemed to favor.

I stand tall on my way to his office this time- I've got a good feeling that he's going to answer me today, I just _know_ it. And he's going to love this breakfast- I doubt his stupid _henchmen_ _ever_ made him breakfast. _So there._

When I actually _arrive_ at the big double doors, I shove last night's untouched meal to the side and I land a crisp knock. There's a second of silence during which I attempt to gnaw off my lip, but then… a grunt? I'm not sure because it's muffled to the point of being completely unintelligible, but it's _some_ thing- he's alive!

 _He's in there, he's awake-_ these are all good things, this is _good._

I wait for his approach with coiled nerves, but even as my heart pounds I know my chances aren't great. Any hope I'd been entertaining was a big fat lie and after five minutes it's pretty obvious that he's not coming. God _damn_ it.

I want to kick at the door but I know it won't get me anywhere, so I force myself to put the new food down, pick up the old stuff, and walk away. I'm gritting my teeth the whole time, but I do it. Back in the kitchen I eat the deformed pancakes and clean up in a state of increasing aggravation, throwing down my sponge as soon as I've wiped down the counter and taking off at a run.

I dart through the lounge off the kitchen and out into the theater area, lapping it in a desperate bid to burn off this sticky feeling of _uselessness_. I feel like my life is a goddamn treadmill right now and I would give anything to move forward just an inch. I want to put my hands on something and _change_ it, I need proof that I'm real, that I'm _alive_ , that I can still put a mark on the world somehow because I'm starting to feel like a figment of his imagination down here- I just need some air. That's it!

 _My sense of reality is entirely intact._

I drag myself up off the floor, and down to the basement for a wig (long, brown) then back to my room for a costume change (jeans, unremarkable hoodie, sunglasses). As I'm getting dressed, the urge to _get out_ builds until I'm tripping over myself to get to the tunnel, and then I just _bolt_. My hands shake as I grip the ladder at the end, my sneakers slipping against the slick rungs in a reckless bid for escape and the moment I pull myself into the light, my lungs expand like I've just taken off a corset.

I roll onto my back, staring up into an achingly blue sky as the panic attack subsides and I start to feel less like a future cardiac patient. Eventually I feel the need to move again but this time the desire is exploratory, so I take my time to get up and I let myself wander.

The neighborhood is grimy, soaked in spray-paint and piss. The sun seems filtered here somehow, like the brightest rays can't breach the atmosphere of desperation that hangs low over the stunted architecture. There's a drunken man playing an old blues song on the stoop of a crumbling brownstone, and down the street a woman in fishnets leans into an open car window to proposition the driver. All that action and it's only one thirty in the afternoon!

 _I think I like it here_.

I spend a good chunk of the afternoon acquainting myself with the new territory. I'm on my way back when my stomach starts to voice its opinions, so I stop at an alarmingly rusty gas station for a snack. The wizened old man at the counter doesn't even look up as I enter, so I take my time perusing the aisles. I've just picked up a mars bar when I realize that I didn't bring any money, and without a second thought, I shove the thing into my pocket. A rush of anxiety hits me immediately, but grandpa at the counter has his face in a newspaper when I look up, so I let out the breath I'd been holding.

Then I grab a pack of starburst and I shove them in my pocket too.

I stroll around the back on my way to the door, but then I spot a corner shelf discreetly displaying a small selection of cheap spirits- which is _totally_ illegal by the way. Naturally I snatch a dusty mickey of vodka, tucking it into the back of my jeans and pulling my hoodie down to hide it. I'm literally inches from the door, inches from getting away with a very small but undoubtedly very satisfying crime-

"Can I _help_ ya?"

I come close to hitting the ground like I'm under fire when the ancient shopkeeper _finally_ speaks up, but I manage to turn around with what I hope is a half normal expression.

"You don't have purple mountain dew." Why the _hell_ would I say that? Is _no thank you_ not enough? And more importantly, is purple mountain dew even a _thing_? He just stares at me, and it only takes a second to realize how awful it would be to get caught for something like _this._

I've locked eyes with the old guy now and I feel like I can't move or look away until he delivers his verdict. I feel like he's looking straight through my skull and into my thoughts, and even if he isn't I'm starting to sweat under this _stupid_ wig- I'm _fucked_. Vodka and candy is going to end my criminal career before I've even had a chance to start it! He's going to-

" _Eh_." He grunts, rolling his eyes. And then, miraculously, he looks back down. _That's it!_

I leave the shop in a daze but I'm only a few steps down the street when the absurdity of the situation strikes me- I broke the goddamn _Joker_ out of a high security mental institution last Friday, but now I'm scared of some guy running a gas station? Sure, _Harleen Quinzel_ would be scared, but _I'm_ Harley Quinn! I could have run away if he'd called the cops, I could have _killed_ him- who cares? I start to giggle, stifling it with a hand until I reach the tunnel and then letting it out full force because it's _certainly_ not getting quieter.

I hit the bottom feeling abruptly and absurdly happy, so I pause to crack open my Smirnoff. The first swig is horrible- it burns my throat and stomach, leaving an antiseptic sting on my tongue- but it also make my limbs feel light and loose, so I keep sipping. By the time I make it back into the basement I'm already quite deliciously dizzy and it occurs to me that it might not have been the best idea to start drinking vodka on an empty stomach. As if on cue, the organ in question lurches and I realize that I forgot about _his_ lunch.

 _Goddamnit Harley_.

That was the one simple thing I thought I _maybe_ had under control! As menial as it might be, providing food is the only thing I know how to do for him right now, and I wanted to be _consistent_. I wanted to show him that I'm going to stick around, that I'll work _hard_ to make him happy, and now I've already skipped a meal! What kind of impression is _that_ going to make?

"Well ain't like he's gonna _eat_ it…" I say, apparently inebriated enough to argue with myself out loud. "Make all these perfekly good meals an he don't even look at em'."

… drunk or not I might have a point.

" _Yeah!"_ I agree with myself wholeheartedly. "Fricken ungrateful…" I kick at a stack of boxes to vent my frustration, and somehow I'm surprised when the whole thing topples.

Ancient cardboard bursts as it hits the ground, throwing reams of polyester and nylon into the air. When the garments settle, it's instantly obvious that they aren't from the Von Fitz era like the rest of the clothes down here- these have the distinctly cheap, over the top flavor of sixties B-movie costumes. I dive gleefully into the pile, gawking and giggling in equal parts as I paw through all my new treasures. Everything is equally gaudy and exciting, so much so that I start to think I'll be down here forever- but when I find the nurse costume, I know my search is over.

I always wanted to wear one of these! I remember looking at one of them in a Halloween shop back in high school, but I had some silly idea that it would be too slutty. Which is honestly ridiculous, because what's a slut really? A lady who likes to do the dirty!

"Ain't nothin' wrong with that!" I exclaim, taking a fortifying sip of vodka before embarking on a fight to free myself from my jeans so I can put on my new favourite 's one of those short button-down dresses with cuffed sleeves and a big red medical plus on the breast pocket- even better, there's an _adorable_ matching cap in the pocket!

It's only once I'm all dressed up that I realize there's no mirror down here, so I race upstairs to my bathroom with trusty ol' Smirnoff close at hand. I'm more than delighted with what I see when I get there, and it might be the booze talking but I'm _never_ taking this off. I spot a tube of red lipstick on the counter, so I grab it to finish off my look- only problem is it goes a bit out of bounds, and when I try to wipe it away it just smears. _But whatever!_ I still look hot- maybe even hotter than before, stupid clown doesn't know what he's missing!

"Lots a' guys would kill to be with me- lots a' ladies too!" I tell mister Smirnoff before taking another swig. "So there!" With that I stumble out of my room and down the hall to the kitchen- it's time to make dinner!

Gotta show him even _more_ of what he's missin'- which is _food_ , I'm talking about food. And screw a well-balanced meal! Fuck all the stupid veggies I keep trying to smuggle onto his plate; tonight he's getting Pizza and gummies. It's an easy meal to make and thank god _,_ because I am officially _drunk_ \- I just snipped a chunk of finger skin off trying to cut the pizza box open and I didn't even feel it! I think I might have leaked a little before popping it into the oven, but what clown worth his salt would turn down a blood pizza?

"Not _my_ clown." I declare, plopping down in front of the oven to watch the cheese bubble.

I briefly picture him biting into a pizza topped with raw human bits and I don't even have the decency to pretend that it grosses me out- which is absurd, because wasn't I at _least_ supposed to be mad at him about something? I spend a second trying to remember the grievance, but I don't really want to be angry anymore and all it takes to distract me is a crack in the ceiling that looks vaguely like a penis. Or maybe anything could look like a penis if you drink enough vodka?

On that note, I take another sip.

Despite my position directly in front of the stove I still manage to forget that I haven't set a timer. By the time I bother to actually check I find the pizza minutes away from being completely burnt and I rush to pull it out, forgoing gloves and thanking the alcoholic gods for peripheral numbing. It's not blackened or anything- just extra crispy, and it's going to have to be good enough for tonight because I'm not sure I have the stamina for a second attempt. The slices I cut are completely uneven as I pile them onto a plate, so I fill a cereal bowl with assorted candy to make up for it. I adjust my dress and my cap, then I heft my tray and I take the hallway at a strut.

Apparently there's nothing like a nurse costume to make you feel invincible because this time I don't hesitate at all before knocking this time and I don't even leave a pause between knocks. My fist hits the door over and over, faster and with more force, because _fuck_ those meek little taps, _fuck caution!_

"C'mon…." I growl.

K _nock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock-_

A blast of high hat and jaunty jazz piano suddenly slaps me right through the door like he's got a whole goddamn bandstand in there. I lurch violently with the startle, nearly losing control of my tray as the recording gets louder.

" _Now, I'll be glad-_ " It's unmistakably Louis Prima, but I don't recognize the track- " _when you're dead, you rascal, you! I'll be glad when you're in your grave, you dog, you dirty dog!"_

Hold up- is he talking to _me_? I mean obviously he's not _talking_ to me, but there's no way he just happened to put on that specific song the moment I decided to get forceful with the knocking.

"Yeah well I ain't too happy with you neither, Mister!" I shout, and this time I actually _do_ kick the door- except it's all completely inaudible under the raging fifties pop. Does he have a wall of speakers in there or something? I'm about to try and kick _harder_ when it dawns on me that even if he's trying to drown me out, he _responded_.

He responded!

My mood flips all the way over and my legs turn to jelly, so I set the tray down before I drop it because this is a million times better than the tiny sound I _thought_ he made yesterday. This isn't just a response, it's a peek _inside_ \- he's giving me another song and I'm wasting the opportunity with all these stupid thoughts!

I press my ear to the door like I can't already hear it crystal clear, and I _really_ let the sound rush over me. I picture him in there, filling himself up with this murderous little ditty, dancing across his as of yet undefined office. I swear I can feel his itchy annoyance, his boundless, rioting energy and it's infectious, filling me up too. I find myself moving, spinning and whirling down the hallway, giggling and dancing all the way to the end of the song. I'm panting, already feeling impossibly lucky when another song starts and it almost seems miraculous until a jarring record scratch cuts the horn into static for a few seconds before it snaps into silence.

It's hard not to feel a bit crestfallen, but it doesn't last long because that felt _amazing._ That was _contact_ , we were dancing _together._ There's no way I can go back to empty airwaves right now, so I do a stumbling grape vine all the way back to my room to I dig out my tiny new Wal-Mart speakers, plugging in my phone to blast a different song he gave me.

" _Love me with all of your heart, that's all I want love-,"_ I sing along, bouncing and swaying on my bed until The Bachelor's bleed into Al Wilson, who turns into Elvis and then I start again from the top. I dance and sing until the vodka makes me sluggish and sloppy and I _have_ to lie down. I watch the ceiling spin for a while as the last notes of Devil in Disguise filter through the speaker, and then everything fades to black.

...

...

I wake up around five with what feels like a mouthful of sand, stumbling into the bathroom to chug from the faucet in a bid to rid the taste but the water hits my stomach too fast and I double over to empty myself into the toilet. After three rounds the nausea subsides, but I'm still parched and now my stomach feels hollow. Reluctantly I drag myself up to rinse my mouth out, wishing I could ignore the black hole in my stomach and go back to bed to die in peace. _Nope._ I am in _dire_ need of a snack, so much so that it outweighs my fear of leaving my room at night. I'm still _apprehensive_ though, so I do a good hall check before I start walking toward the kitchen.

I've only taken a few steps when I hear the whistling.

The sound is high and reedy, loping along a tune that would be jolly and namelessly familiar if it hadn't been warped into the minor key. This is like the opposite of _his_ music, this sounds like a funeral dirge, crawling under my skin and plucking at the hairs on the back of my neck. I freeze; holding my breath and listening like my life depends on it which it _does_ because I was _right,_ this place is haunted and I'm gonna' freakin' _die_ here! It's only a matter of time- I'm gonna get _murdered_ by some dead guy and Mr. J is gonna find my body in this hall and I'll probably have Von Fitz's stupid letter opener stickin' outta my eyeball or something- Oh _god_ it's getting _closer_ , the whistler is getting _closer-_

Ok, ok, ok, _fuck-_

Why the _hell_ did I have to close my bedroom door behind me? That thing creaks if you so much as look at it the wrong way, and then they'll know I'm here if they don't already- _Oh god I'm so screwed_ , I'm gonna _die_ today, and- _This isn't helping_. I can't go back to my room and the whistling is coming from behind me so I need to get out of this hallway, I just need to get out of here so I can hide until it _goes away._ It's an effort to walk instead of run, but I can't be louder than _it_ is, I can't let it know that I'm here, so I take my steps _slow_ and I make them _light_.

I want to collapse the moment I cross the threshold into the kitchen but it's still getting _closer_ \- I think it's rounded the corner into the hallway, it's coming _toward_ me. The kitchen is nearly pitch black and my eyes can only adjust so much, so I head for the faint outline of the lounge door, groping along the wall to find my way and then tucking myself behind the arm of the couch. I'm trying desperately not to breathe because it's reached the kitchen, and if it comes in here all I have for protection is some shadows and a piece of furniture. _I'm going to die, this is it this is the end, I'm screwed, I am so screwed-_

Something whispy and white as it rushes past the doorway and my heart nearly stops- I didn't expect to actually _see_ it oh my _god- Fuck_ now I've started screaming, oh _god_. I'm gonna _die_! I'm gonna _die_ , I'm gonna _die_ , I'm gonna _die_ , I'm gonna-

It reappears in the doorway, still half shrouded in darkness, and I bolt, scrambling for the other door in attempt to escape Through theater. A sharp pain slashes through my upper arm and I keep going, but a second later I'm yanked to a stop by a tug on the back of my dress. _Fuck,_ it's _got_ me, _its over-_

"… _Harley?"_ My panic makes a 180 turn onto warm happy street and I feel like I'm floating on clouds because it's _him!_ After like _five days_ , I _finally_ get to see him and he's…fuck, he is _so_ much better than I remembered.

"MISTAH J!" He emerges from the shadows, cringing at the pitch of my voice- and if we're being honest it kinda hurts my ears too.

" _Not another_ kid _, then_ …" He mutters.I'm not sure what that means but it doesn't matter- he's wearing a lab coat unbuttoned over nothing but his _trousers_ and I think I'm short-circuiting.

I try to walk toward him but my shirt yanks me back again and I realize dopily that it must be caught on something- I don't bother to check what, I'd rather keep looking at him. His feet are bare, his hair is curly and messy, and he's reaching out to _me..._ or to the paring knife that's apparently binding me to the wall. He presses the tip of his index finger to the point where metal meets drywall and then he slides it back along the top of the blade before wrapping his fingers around the handle.

I shiver involuntarily, and my gaze crawls up his arm to focus on his face- even in this kind of darkness his skin practically glows and his eyes are fluorescent. There's a dull thunk as he pulls the knife from the wall, ripping the back of my dress, and I stumble forward on release, bumping into his chest nose-first.

"Ung!" Is the awkward sound I make as I clutch my face, planting my hands on his _bare_ stomach in a misguided attempt to right myself, and _oh god!_ I giggle nervously, snatching my hands away frantically as my face starts to burn because _fucking hell_ its been too long since I got to touch him last, and who even knows how long it will be after this! Suddenly I'm terrified that I might never touch him again, and I lose all self-control, throwing myself forward to wrap my arms around his mid-section.

He lets out a little hiss making an obvious attempt to recoil, but this time _I'm_ the one who's too quick and I squeeze him tight, inhaling deeply as _I press my cheek against his bare skin-_ oh _yes_. This is _perfect._

"I thought you were Ghost!" _Why am I talking?_ "I was all scared on account of the theater bein cursed, an-"

" _Oooh_ -" The giggle is loose and airy, like gravity is abandoning him. "Mmmm…" He hums, trying to compose himself, but it dissolves into a nasal sort of snicker anyways. "Ghosts and curses _indeed-_ reasonable fears for any trained physician! _But by all means_ -" He lunges forward and I jump back in my surprise, smacking against the wall. "-don't take a direct threat to heart."

That paring knife reappears appears to press against my chest, the point of it poking through the polyester costume and pricking my skin. At this point there's no use pretending; I don't pull back, I just shiver and blush. He rolls his eyes, but he still leans just a _bit_ closer and I find myself rising up to tiptoes.

"Tell me doctor, is that a standard-issue uniform?" It takes a moment to remember what I'm wearing, but the moment I do I feel oddly naked and my hands fly down to grip the hem of my mini-dress. "Must have been an awfully taxing rotation to leave you looking so _unkempt_ … or perhaps you've been having a tryst with one of those _ghosts_ you keep talking about-"

"No I ain't!" The protest bursts forth like I'm _actually_ worried that he thinks I've been canoodling with dead people. His eyebrows jump in delight at my urgency, but he doesn't deign to let me off the hook, simply tipping his head to the side in a gesture just as sarcastic as an uttered ' _sure.'_

" _Really_ Mistah J," I sound like I'm whining but I can't seem to help it- "I only been dancin', I _swear-"_

" _Shhh, shhh_ -" he raises both hands in a placating gesture, but its cheapened by the knife in his grip and the teasing gin coiled at the corners of his mouth. "No need to make excuses, a bit of necrophilia is perfectly _natural_."

"Hey!" my voice squeaks with indignation. "I _never_ -"

"Nothing at all to be ashamed of!" He continues exuberantly, drowning my protest. "You see, when a man- or a _woman_ \- loves a dead body _very much_ ,-" This last line proves too much and he explodes abruptly, doubling over as if comedy itself punched him in the stomach.

The sound of it hits me like a shot of vodka, spinning my head and making me giggle until I remember what I've been accused of, and even then I have to fight my smile. This is his _real_ laugh- the candid one, and it's the most beautiful music in the whole wide world.

" _Ooh,_ I slay me." He groans as the attack subsides, and I find myself giggling again- this time I don't bother to fight it. "Look at us!" He says, L.E.D. eyes flashing as his chuckle drops to a baritone. "Having _so_ much _fun_ together." He pokes me in the side and I squeal with startled elation.

"Do you _like_ it here, Harley?" He starts to tickle me and I can't speak through the peals of laughter that burst from my mouth so I nod wildly instead.

"Isn't that lovely," He purrs, relenting to plant his palms on his knees. "And do you feel at _home_ here?"

"H' _yeah_ ," The agreement is slurred as it competes for airspace with my oxygen-starved panting. My field of view constricts, framing his shadowed face, and I start to feel a bit disembodied staring up at him.

"Well that's just perfect!" His words are sharpened and the last syllable is percussive. "After all, _home is where the hurt is-_ "

I'm too busy trying to memorize the arch of his brow to see him reach for me- I don't notice anything at all until he's got my wrist in a vice grip. He uses it to wrench my arm up behind my back, trapping me face-first against the wall. The pain that shoots through my shoulder and into my chest is so excruciating that I'm simultaneously glad I've already vomited and excited for the endorphin rush to come.

"Don't forget whose _turf_ you're on _, little girl_ …" His voice is barely more than a whisper as he steps closer, his free hand coming to rest on the wall above my head. "I think you're getting a bit too comfortable." He twists my wrist further and I bite through a moan. "You aren't a _guest_ here, Harls. You're not even a pet, you're an _experiment_." He releases me with a downward shove and my knees buckle, dropping me to the floor. He crouches slowly to catch my gaze as I push myself up to kneel.

"A _subject_ is only worthwhile as long as it generates interesting data- after that, _I_ hit the clock, _I_ do the post-mortem." He smiles with his lips pressed together and the light in his eye is reptilian as he reaches up to brush a bit of hair out of my face. "You would do well to remember that the next time you start get those _warm, fuzzy_ feelings."

With that he stands, pivots, and exits through the kitchen.

I want nothing more than to follow him and soak up every last moment of his presence, but I really don't think that's a good idea and I'm not sure my legs would be steady enough to hold me either way. I can tell it's going to take a while for my heart to stop racing- my breath comes in fluttering and unstable even as I try to even it out, and my head feels dizzyingly light.

The word 'experiment' rolls around the inside of my skull- _I'm_ an experiment, _he_ is experiment _ing._ I probably shouldn't laugh at that but I do, and my next thought is that I must be interesting to be a subject, which just about makes my heart burst. It almost doesn't seem possible that he was _just_ here; he's like a mirage now, appearing and disappearing at random. It's harder to tie him to reality.

In Arkham our time together was for the most part scheduled- I didn't appreciate it then but it gave me time to get _ready_ for him. The little rituals of putting on my lipstick and walking down to our room had more psychological value than I was ready to acknowledge; I needed to work myself into _his_ space, I needed to open my mind _._ But things are different now, my mind is _permanently_ open- I just need to get used to him walking in and out of it.

If you think about it we're just like any other couple! Putting on a show until you move in together, that's when the secrets _all_ come out- although at this point I have no idea what I would consider a deal breaker.

I let myself slide down the wall to lay on the floor and I spend an immeasurable amount of time sprawled out like that , replaying the encounter so I can lock every part into memory. Eventually my spine starts to dig into the floor so I haul myself up to take a shower- I can smell myself and that's _never_ a good thing. Though recently cleaned the shower is still the opposite of luxury, but the water is hot and once I step under the spray I don't know how I'll ever get out. _That's fine though, the shower is a wonderful place to think._

I'm not sure if what he said about getting cozy was meant to stop me from feeding him, but he's going to have to do something much more drastic if he wants it to work. So when I eventually do get out of the shower I get to making him breakfast as usual, he ignores me as usual, and my day goes on.

Over the course of the following week I fall into an accidental rhythm centered around three meals that always go uneaten, and without any more appearances from the man of the century it's painfully monotonous. I've even started delivering his meals in costumes from downstairs just to try and make myself feel festive- yesterday I was a banana, but it didn't help much.

Everyday I wake up, make breakfast, put on a disguise, and head out on a walk that always ends at my new favorite convenience store. I steal snacks and dirty novels instead of vodka- I found em tucked away under layers of yellowed trash-lit. It was obvious that no one had bothered to touch those books in years- they'd been relegated to a single row on a shelf at the back of the store, mixed in with a selection of bootlegged porn DVD's. Naturally I was drawn to them, how could I not be? I used to have a secret box filled to the _brim_ with books like this- albeit usually of a higher caliber, but they follow the same rules.

So everyday after the lunch delivery, I read until I get so antsy that I can't hold the book straight and then I blast music in the theater, dancing or climbing around on the lighting bars above the stage. After that I make dinner and I end the night with snacks in front of the tv in the lounge, or reading up above the stage.

Tonight I've chosen the latter.

I finished a book earlier so I'm starting a new one now- it's one I had been meaning to save, but I've never been a very patient gal and it's been a rough week. The _last_ book I read was about a girl who fell in love with a werewolf, and the big drama was that she was allergic to dog fur. Before that I read one about an inquisitor who fell in love with a suspected witch- the sex scenes were awful but the torture bits were decent- needless to say neither of them quite hit the spot but _this_ one is different. The cover is enough to convince me of that.

It's a creased, buttery yellow, and fraying at the corners. Black letters title it _The Hungry Ones_ , and beneath those letters is a blonde girl in pigtails with bright red ribbons. Her glossy lower lip curves upward ever so slightly, her fingertips hovering just below it as she looks at the man over her shoulder.

That man is a _clown_.

And when I say clown, I _mean_ it. He's in full regalia- neck ruffle, jumpsuit and giant shoes, seriously, _the_ _works_. He's leaning against the wall behind her, one of his hands creeping up her arm as he looks down with his painted grin- I don't think I could have stolen it any faster. There was a time when I would have ridiculed something like this- _come on,_ nobody goes out looking to become a coulrophiliac; It starts out as a very innocent attraction to a patient with a comedic fixation, and who can blame you? He's _charming_ , _smart_ , he's _great_ at makeup and he chokes you a bit… Before you know it you're having steamy dreams that involve joy buzzers and you can't even go to McDonald's without getting wet. It's not my fault!

 _Anyways._

I've been hanging upside down off the center beam for about 10 minutes now and I think all the blood in my brain is making me dumb, because I've only made it through the first two pages. So far I've discovered that the blond on the cover is named Lori and she's just ordered a clown for her little sister's birthday party- three guesses where _that's_ going. I'm trying to keep an open mind because really I've only just started, but I'm already disappointed. This book was my last line of defense against the emotionally dark cloud hanging just out of sight, and now Lori is wasting time lamenting her lack of a love life- I mean _really_?

I'm about to chuck the musty old thing across the theater when the click of an opening door cracks the relative silence and my blood runs cold because _that's not him._ That sound didn't come from the back of the building, it's echoing right up the stairway from the basement.

Looks like we've got guests.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Notes:** Hayo Kiddos! Happy halloween month, I hope you all had a devious Friday the thirteenth 3

Here's my customary apology for lateness and a promise that I'm still working on this fic! It may be a slow burn monster, but its _my_ slow burn monster, ya know?

Also again, thank you for the likes and reviews! I read them when I start to feel like Im a terrible writer, so they really do make a difference. Anywayssss, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'll start work on number five right away.

Much love, Sewer angel

 **Chapter 4: fear factor**

Oh _god_.

 _Oh_ god, what the _fuck_ do I do- what if it's the cops? What if it's _Batman_?

I yank myself up to crouch on top of the lighting beam, hopefully out of sight and suddenly terrified to breathe. I'm not ready for this, this isn't supposed to happen yet, I need time! Everything was going well, I was getting closer, I know it, and now he's gonna get taken away- wait a minute, what the _hell_ am I doing? I should be warning him instead of cowering up here like an idiot!

I scramble backwards on the beam, panicked enough to throw caution to the wind until my foot slips off. I throw my weight forward to hug the beam and avoid pancaking myself on the stage below- I've only just almost caught my breath when I lose it all over again.

"He gonna be _mad_ though? Cause I ain't really done anything! It was an accident-" The reedy whine doesn't belong to the first man that walks through the door, but then Roscoe never seemed like much of a talker. The sight of him immediately diffuses some of my anxiety- I only met him once, and 'met' should be read loosely here, but I immediately trusted him. I don't have any actual _evidence_ of his trustworthiness, but he's Mistah J's right-hand man so that's gotta mean something, right?

He's just as massive as he was the last time I saw him and he's got the same unfazed expression under his red beret, only this time he's toting two men instead of a tommy gun. He's got one over each shoulder, hogtied, gagged and bleeding onto his purple bomber. Shuffling anxiously into the theater behind him is a procession of men in a variety of shapes, colours, and sizes. Some of them are average thugs, some wear suits and others wear city uniforms, but none of them look even a _little_ bit comfortable. Well, all except Roscoe- he looks positively _serene_. I do a head count once they've all filled in- there are maybe fifteen in total not including the two in bondage.

When Roscoe makes it to the base of the stage he drops his two writhing packages on the floor and then takes a seat in the front row. Half of the other men move into the third and fourth rows, apparently too scared to come closer despite clearly being here for an audience with the prince himself- a couple of rows of seats aren't going to do anything to stop him from killing them if he wants to. The rest move into positions around the perimeter of the theater, which means they must be J's men. There's a few awkward moments of silence before one of the captives starts to whine- but only until Roscoe kicks him and then everything is quiet again. Most of the seated men are getting increasingly jittery and there's a younger suit in the back who looks like he wants to bolt- which is hopeless because at least _six_ of J's men have eyes on him.

I jolt at the click of the backstage door but no one else seems to hear it- they do hear the footsteps though, or at least Roscoe does because he stands to attention and that sets the rest of the them on edge. I shift my grip on the beam so I can turn and watch his entrance... I swear I can _feel_ him in the air. When he parts the curtain and steps through I have to bite my arm to keep from squealing- I know that probably seems over the top, but he looks _amazing_.

He's wearing a purple tailcoat with matching trousers that I think I've seen before, but the orange floral shirt and green polka-dot bowtie he's paired them with are _definitely_ new. To top it off his nails are painted a glossy magenta and his hair is styled into something like a messy jellyroll, green curls spilling onto his forehead. None of it _should_ look right, but it's so inexplicably and jarringly _him_ that it's stunning.

 _God_ , you'd think I'd be done mooning over him by now, right?

"Gentlemen!" He spreads his arms and stretches his grin. "It is _good_ to be back." He plants his hands on his hips looking slowly around at the small crowd- if I'm not mistaken he's taking the time to stare each of them in the eye. After making the round he chuckles and turns his attention to Roscoe, who's been waiting patiently at the base of the stage.

"Roscoe, _buddy!_ " he does a sideways hustle to the edge of the stage and hops off. "I see you come bearing _gifts_?" He tips his head toward the captives, and the larger man nods, clearing his throat.

"From the pharmacy." I have to scoot forward- his voice is a rumbling baritone, but he speaks so quietly that even J is to leaning closer. "Crane and some men launched a raid. These two were involved."

J brings his hands together and taps his fingers as he digests the news.

"And were they _successfully_ involved?" There's an edge to the last word but Roscoe doesn't even cringe- it's quite impressive considering everyone else does.

"They secured _part_ of the shipment- there were nine not including Crane and we snuffed eight on site. The one in the blue jacket-" he nods to the tied man on the right. "Let them in, and the other one is the last crow." Roscoe folds his arms behind his back as he as finishes and his boss claps him on the arm in, apparently satisfied as he crouches next to one of the bound thugs.

"This, " Says J, reaching out to stroke the man's cheek as he tries to wriggle away. "Is a _teach_ able moment. Boys!" The _boys_ look up in alarm, one of them fumbling his shotgun only to catch it inches above the floor."If you _can_ , show restraint-" He starts in with a tone dripping condescension. "Keep your enemies _alive_ and _bring em'_ home to _daddy-"_ With that his hand darts out and he grab blue-coat by the nose.

He twists it sharply and a wet crack echoes through the theater for a few seconds before the man starts screaming. A business-type in the third row gags visibly as the others look quickly away.

"Oh I'm _sorry_ , did that hurt?" He reels back and slaps the man hard. " _Did it?_ "

The blue-coat releases a wet sob, not bothering to open his eyes and J sighs, grabbing him by the chin and ramming an elbow into his sternum. The unfortunate man makes a sound that's neither scream nor gasp, but it _is_ agonized.

"Shhh, _shhh_ , you're _ok_. Just tell Mister J about all the _naughty_ things you've been up to while he's been away." He grins.

"I didn't- _urg_!" Grunts the soon-to-be-corpse as a pointy white fist rams into his stomach.

"Don't be _silly_ , of _course_ you did!" Giggles J, holding the other man down by the throat. "There, _see_? I'm not even mad at you! Not _really_ \- it's just that I don't like being _left_ _out_."

"I'm _sorry_!"

"And I _forgive_ you- scout's honour! All you have to do to stop me from doing _this_ ," He shifts his grip and starts squeezing, slowly compressing the man's trachea- a prickling kind of jealousy crawls up my spine. "Shhh... _All_ you have to do to stop it... is tell me _what_ you _did_."

" _Met him at a bar!_ " Rasps the traitor, voice hoarse with the pain.

" _Well_ , _well_ , this is shaping up to be a rather juicy tidbit- "Joker chuckles, loosening his grip. " _Do_ go on."

"One of Crane's guys! Bought me a beer cause we went to the same high school n' started talking about how _mad_ his boss was cause someone was buying up all the 3-QNB coming into Gotham-" He pauses for a rough breath and lets out a hacking cough at the end of it. "I felt _real_ bad for the guy, and I was drunk and it was-" He scrunches up his face like J is twisting his choking him again. "It was so _stupid_ , I'm so _sorry_ boss-"

" _What_ did you _do_?" The growl that comes out of _my_ man sends goosebumps rushing up my arms.

"I told him where I worked!" Whimpers loose-lips, tears rolling down his face _again_. "He was impressed, so I- _oh_ _fuck_ , I told him more. I don't know exactly what I said, I swear, I was _drunk_ \- I never knew what he was gonna _do_ , you _gotta_ understand boss! _Please_ -"

"Of _course_ , of _course_!" J lets the man go for a moment, throwing his hands up. "I understand _completely_." He sets one hand on his thigh while the other slips casually behind his back. From my position I can see it slid under one of the tails of his coat, reappearing wrapped around the handle of a gun. Oh _fuck_ yeah.

"A cracked sink doesn't _mean_ to leak-" He raises his arm to aim and pulls the trigger in the same motion. "But you still have to _plug_ it." There are two percussive bangs and then two bullets sinking into one skull. J stands in the still that follows, casually turning to Roscoe as he straightens his jacket and wipes a dot of blood from his cheek.

" _Three_ -Quinuclidinyl _benzi_ late…" He delivers the chemical name like a shakespearian before breaking into a chuckle. "Funny name for a _vitamin_ , isn't it?"

"Sure is boss"

"Did they actually _make_ _off_ with any of those _funny_ little vitamins?"

"About three quarters of the shipment was taken, but they lost at least half of what they took in the fire."

"The pharmacy _burnt_ _down_?"

"No boss," Grunts Roscoe. "Triad set a few crows on fire."

 _Triad_ \- is that one person or three?

" _Ah_ -" Nods J, like that answer is perfectly understandable. "Well good for him!" _One_ person then. "Y' _know,_ Rosy-" Roscoe grimaces for once- "It's been a _while_ since I roasted a crow- we'll have to pay them a visit. Put it on the agenda!" He dusts off his hands as if to say 'that's that'.

" _Beavis_!" He snaps his fingers, turning to face his audience. " _Butthead_! Drag the live one down to the playroom, won't you?" None of his men seem to know what he's talking about or even who he's talking to, and within a few seconds of inaction J's shoulders hunch up like an angry cat.

"You!" He snaps, jabbing a pointed finger to designate two of his men. "Grab _him_ -" He points to the living captive. " _AND PUT HIM IN THE PLAYROOM!_ " This roar is chilling, amplified by the acoustics of the theater so that it hits like a slap and then rolls over your skin in pins and needles.

The room looks like a tableau for a second before the two chosen henchmen rush forward and pick up their charge wearing twin expressions of absolute _terror_. Meanwhile, J stands with his eyes closed, rubbing his brow and tapping his foot, sighing as loudly as he possibly can.

" _Honestly_ , it's impossible to find competent help these days." He drawls, and _heh_ \- I'm pretty sure Roscoe just rolled his eyes. "Moving _on_ -" He draws out the last syllable as he rounds to face forward once again. "If you're here to drop off an essay, _come on down!_ "

Most of the men in the third and fourth rows stand uncertainly, shuffling over to the aisle and then moving as a jittery clump toward the stage. _Actually,_ I think they might be taking intentionally tiny steps so that it takes longer to get there, and the moment I realize that I have to shove half a hand in my mouth to keep from laughing.

"I hope I don't have to remind you how _severe_ the penalty is for lateness-" J arches a perfect brow.

There's a beat of silence and then everyone rushes forward, stumbling over each other in their panic to avoid being last. One of them fumbles the envelope he's carrying and drops down to pick it up, only to be trampled by the frantic man behind him, and another man- this one's in a _cop_ uniform- actually _shoves_ the guy ahead of him...This is _fascinating_. The first one approaches J with his head down, gripping the manilla envelope with shaking hands as he presents it. The others rush over to Roscoe, passing him their envelopes before escaping to the back of the theater where a guard leads them back down to the tunnel.

The Joker tilts his head as he considers the man cowering in front of him, and then he frowns.

"I'm not sure why you're _brandishing_ an envelope at me, you should know that I don't like being _handed_ things." The man startles at his words, trying to back away until J appears to recognize him and grabs him by the shirt, but instead of pulling the man forward he leans closer so that they're both standing on a slant.

"...You're the _new_ bie, aren't you?"

"Yes! _Uh_ \- Mister Joker, _Sir_."

"Well! In that case feel free to give me your _package_."

... _Excuse me?_

"Oh don't have an _aneurysm_ , I'm joking- " J snickers as the shorter man turns fluorescent red. He drops his hands onto newbie's shoulders, squeezing hard enough for a flash of pain to wash over his face. "I've been known to do that from time to time. But you'll get used to it! I think we're going to be _very_ good friends."

Noob gulps and J grins, releasing his shoulders only to slap a hand to his back and walk him to a seat in the front row. The clown flops down right next to his new best _friend_ \- who looks like the prospect of friendship is a death sentence and lets be real, it probably is.

" _Sooo_ , how's the new _gig_? Wayne tech is awfully _prestigious_ , after all." Purrs J.

"Oh! _Um_ , it's _good_ sir- very good! _I_ \- _I_ , put it all in the report, I _swear_ , _every_ thing-"

"Now, now-" Hushes J, crossing his legs and wagging a finger. "No need to be _anxious_ , I just want to get to know you a little bit better- I have to be able to trust my employees, don't I?"

"I- uh- of _course_ , sir!"

"You're not opposed to spending time with me, _are_ you?"

"No! N- _no_ , sir!"

"Perfect!" J jumps to his feet, dragging the newbie up with him."Roscoe will escort you to my office while I finish this meeting, and we can have a little _heart_ -to- _heart_ when I'm done." With that, J spins the frazzled man and shoves him at Roscoe, who is patient enough to steady him before leading him toward the backstage exit. The unfortunate newbie scampers after him looking even more terrified than he did before.

" _Alrighty_!" J claps, whipping back around to face the few men left. "You're up, Dumbo!"

The man who stands now looks significantly less shaken than the others had, but he's trying to hide a grimace- probably at the nickname, he _does_ have rather sizeable ears. He's in a casual suit but he wears it differently than the business types did, walking with an obvious swagger and a heavy step. His jaw is heavy and square, marred on one side by a deep scar that runs up his cheek, and his skin has the thickened, weathered look of someone born into henching- it's obvious that this is his world, even if he isn't a main player. As he gets closer, I realize with a spark of delight that the left half of the suit is embroidered with thin jagged lines of black metallic threat, glittering into visibility only when the light hits them _just_ so.

"Good t'see you outta the bin, boss." He grunts, stopping a few feet from J and clasping his hands behind his back.

"Why _thank_ you." Replies the boss with a heaping spoonful of gravitas. Suddenly he switches his gaze to peer over Dumbo's shoulder, locking his glare onto one guard in particular, for no obvious reason. Dumbo arcs a bushy brow in confusion, turning to follow J's gaze and looking all the more baffled when he sees nothing of import. J on the other hand, has turned his attention back to the man in front of him, stepping closer so that his next words are spoken directly into one of those gigantic ears.

" _So_ , how are _things_?" He doesn't bother to lower his voice at all, and Dumbo whips around, stumbling back in his surprise and releasing a surprisingly high pitched squeal. He recovers fast though, rubbing his face to shake it off as his boss literally _points_ and _laughs_. He waits respectfully until the ever adorable Mister Puddin' gets himself under control, and then he clears his throat.

"Two-Face wants to hit the Last Laugh."

J giggles but it's unclear if he's reacting or if it's just coming up from before.

"Well that's under _standable,_ I absolutely cremated him on poker night." I'm not sure if thats a bit or if he actually has poker-nights with Harvey, but the idea that they have some sort of casual friendship amidst all the villainy-villaining is just about the best thing ever. "Do you have anything more _flavourful_ than that?"

"He's got a heist coming up so not til after that, probably not til' ..." He sighs. " Not til' the twenty-second."

"What _fun_ ," Purrs J- I can picture the leer he's wearing even though I can't see it. "I'm an awfully lucky boy, aren't I? Freshly un-grounded and already getting _play_ dates."

"Sure, boss." Grumbles Dumbo, managing to look only marginally uncomfortable. "You want me to _do_ anything about it though?"

The boss chuckles.

"No, no, you just _sit_ _tight_ and keep those magnificent trophy handles on high alert." He flicks one of Dumbo's ears and the poor man winces. "Let me know when Harv decides to drop in and I'll give you a gold star, _hmm_?"

"Yeah boss."

"Good! _Class dismissed._ " J claps then turns on a heel, the tails of his coat whipping wildly in his wake as he struts for the backstage door, and seconds later I hear it creaks open and slam shut

 _All_ I want is to follow him but I don't know if I can climb down without them hearing me, so I turn back to make sure they're leaving- Dumbo and the last of guards are filling out the back door so they probably won't hear me, but Roscoe is still holding his post. I'm trying really hard to hold it against him, but for some reason he feel the need to stick around until they're _thoroughly_ gone, and then he gathers up the stack of 'essays' and follows J at an _agonizing_ pace.

The minute I hear the doors close this time, I'm on the move.

I shimmy back to the central beam so I can crawl over to one of the stilts and slide down to the stage. As soon as my feet touch the ground I'm racing after Roscoe, crouching against the door and pushing it open _just_ enough to peek through- he's reached the end of the hall and he's turning down the next, so I slip through and trail him back to J's office. He take up a post outside the double doors, so I tuck myself around the corner. At first I'm planning to wait here and see what happens, but then it occurs to me that J is in an _unusually_ sociable mood so it might be my best chance to get some food into him.

With that thought, I tip-toe back to the kitchen and I creep around gathering grilled cheese supplies as quietly as possible. I assemble the sandwich with a layer of bacon in the middle and stick it into a hot, buttery pan, letting it get all crispy and melty while I make a second sandwich. I'd be lying if I said I'm not rushing- I just missed the glass and poured chocolate milk all over my hand. I'm not even going to take the time to worry about the fact that I'm still wearing my onesie, because this is a _limited_ time offer. I've only just taken the second grilled cheese off the heat when I hear voices, and the sound hits the back of my neck like ice. I jump into action, sliding everything onto my tray and racing through the halls with it hefted over my head. I don't have a single coherent thought in my head as I round the final corner to see Roscoe, Newbie and my Puddin gathered outside his office, so I don't slow down at _all_ \- I just sprint right past them.

"HARLEEN _FRANCIS_ QUINZEL!"

 _Holy shit_ , he knows my _middle_ _name_?

I don't have much time to think about that before I realize the office I've sprinted into is a _minefield_. There is lego _everywhere-_ and not individual blocks but a whole goddamn _city_ \- I think he built Gotham in here! I'm going too fast to stop before I hit the city's edge, so I end up hopping frantically between bare areas, trying to lose speed and gain balance without dropping my tray or knocking over a miniature ace chemicals. The door slams and I lurch, which miraculously throws me back enough to offset the forward tilt I had going, and I manage to come to a precarious halt half-straddling Wayne tower.

"It's incredibly _rude_ to barge into a man's office without an appointment, you know." He steps gingerly into the downtown core and picks his way gracefully over to my position, and plucks the tray from my grip and sniffs the offering." _Lucky_ for you I'm taking drop-ins." He grins and I only have a second to sense the malice before he gives me a hearty shove.

I crash into the tower and the tiny plastic bricks turn into a nail bed when I hit the floor on top of them. I cry out, trying to pick myself up as quickly as possible- I end up in an awkward crouch, bracing myself over City Hall to breathe out the pain as he laughs in the background.

" _That's_ destruction of private property, little lady." He's sounds a bit muffled, like he's got something in his mouth- he's eating!

"M' _real_ sorry, Mistah J-" I try my best to limit the joy in my voice. "Thought I was Ann, but I guess I'm King kong."

He snorts.

"Be that as it _may_ , I'll be forced to take you apart if you don't put that tower back together."

" _But_ -" My mouth drops open- how the _hell_ am I supposed to do that?

"Ah- _ta-ta_! You may be _dressed_ as an infant," He continues and I flush- fucking onesie. "But we both know you're a big girl, so try to act like one, _hmm_?" He cradles his chin in his hands, arching his brows.

I shut my mouth to stifle a groan and it becomes a pained sort of hum.

" _Ha_..Um-" I swallow, trying to figure out someway to give myself an edge in this ridiculous test. "Could I maybe, _pretty_ please see a picture of the tower, Sir?"

"No." He says plainly, turning back to the paper on his desk as he starts on the second grilled cheese. Well _that's_ a win, at least.

"Ok!" Uh-oh, I might sound a bit deranged- A twitch at the corner of his mouth confirms it. "No problem, Mistah J!" Yeah that probably didn't help my case.

He huffs this time and it's quite clear that he's done talking to me for the moment, so I turn back to the mess I've gotten myself into- what the _fuck_. Only about a fourth of the tower is still intact, but the top of it doesn't have the same design as the base so I can't just copy what's left… _ugh_ I am so screwed. I let out a long sigh that he ignores, deciding I might as well take the opportunity to look around- _sure_ , I might have an impossible job to do and I might get dismembered if I fail, but I'm in his office!

It's a _gigantic_ room, larger than the broken mirror room for sure- it must have been a rehearsal space at one time, but he's transformed it into something more like a laboratory. One half of the expansive back wall boast a set of long metal shelves, laden with stock chemicals and equipment. Lined up on the wall next to the chemistry shelves is an autopsy table and two steel workbenches, one of which bears a complex maze of beakers connected by glass funnels and tubes. There's an electric green liquid being processed through it and an alarming steam is leaking out one end, but it's quite beautiful.

The left wall also has metal shelves, but these ones display books and records- oh _god_ I wish I could look through those. There are action figures too, mostly Batman, mostly in compromising positions or horribly disfigured- and spools of film, cameras and the occasional scalpel. The bottom rows are stacked with video games for a variety of consoles- I look around to find the consoles themselves in the corner to the right of the door. He's got about five power-bars going to support one giant flat screen and with six other smaller Tv's, along with the aforementioned consoles, a DVD player, a VCR, a massive set of speakers and that a gorgeous purple and gold record player. In front of his eclectic entertainment system is an equally eclectic seating area- up front is a purple blow-up couch but there's also a dentist's chair, a couple antique armchairs and beanbag chair off to the side.

I let my gaze move back along the right wall to find another set of shelves along with a few display cases. I think this is my favorite part so far, it's mostly stuff he made- joy buzzers, acid-squirting flowers and exploding chatter teeth. There are decks and decks of shuriken- playing cards, undetonated bombs, and gas-dispersing gift boxes, all in his trademark colors. There are custom guns, switchblades and butterfly knives piled up next to grenades painted with smiley faces, and a carnival mallet- _ooh_ I _like_ that. _His_ favourite piece is obviously the bat-glove he's got under lights in the display case.

Then there are the _drawings_.

They're plastered over every available inch of wall space- most of them seem to be in crayon but there's a wide variety of mediums including blood, and they're all horrifically _stunning_. Some are diagrams for death traps and others look like abstracted anatomy drawings with organs strewn and twisted, layers of skin and muscle pulled away to make grotesque new limbs. And then there are the Batmans. There are _so_ many of them and they're gorgeous of course, gothic portraits in black and occasionally red- some look almost biblical, worshipful, others show him mangled and torn, decapitated and eviscerated- the contrast is jarring. His creations climb the walls like the winds of a cyclone, and I wonder if this is what the inside of his mind looks like- The whole room is a paradoxically organized chaos, a storm whipped up to his liking and he sits at his big desk in the middle, commanding it all.

I'm staring at a sketch of the Bat in a straightjacket when he starts to tap his foot.

I jump and a cold jolt runs up my spine as I rush to clear myself a spot. I start sorting blocks by colour and type- at least it will _seem_ productive. If I had my freakin phone I could just look up a picture of the tower. I peek back over my shoulder to I find him deeply invested in another diagram or drawing. He looks really focused… maybe he _didn't_ start the foot tapping because I wasn't working- which means I might be able to sneak out and get my phone.

I reach out and smack over a large pile of blocks to test the hypothesis- he doesn't even look up. _Perfect_. I push up to a crawl and make my way carefully back over the cityscape, keeping low even when reach to stable ground. I'm halfway to the door when I sneeze

I fucking _sneeze_ \- and not a cute little quiet ' _atchoo_ ' but a great, big, honkin _blowout_.

A nervous heat prickles up my spine and I just _know_ he's watching me but I hold myself _very_ still, just in case- then I hear his chair scrape back.

"Oh _Harley_ , tell me you're not skipping class." His voice is closer than I thought it would be and I jolt, rolling onto my back to find him standing over me.

" _No_ Mistah J!" I raise my hands up over my head, not bothering to try and get up. "I was uh-" Shit, I really don't know what to say. "I was gonna get my phone." I cringe as I say it, but he'll _know_ if I try to lie.

"Ahh-" He crouches and I prop myself up on my elbows. "So you were just going to _cheat_ , then." My stomach drops.

"N- _no_ , I just wanted to _check_ -"

"This isn't an open-book test and _you_ know it, kiddo." He shakes his head, and all the condescension starts to burn- _he_ pushed me over on his stupid tower, he started this!

"How the hell am I supposed to know _exactly_ what Wayne tower looks like?" He raises an eyebrow at my outburst but I've already started to dig this grave so I might as well keep going. "I don't got a photographic memory or whatever you got, I ain't a _freakin genius_!"

"Well you're spot-on with that analysis-" He chuckles. "But that was strike two." His mouth falls from it's amused grin into a disappointed grimace and he grabs my wrists, dragging me roughly to my feet. "I think you need a _timeout_." He growls wrapping an arm around my waist and throwing me over his shoulder before I can react- if I wasn't so _aroused_ I would be _very_ scared.

He marches me out of his office, turning left down the hall but one of his hands is blissfully high up on the back of my thigh so I'm not even a little bit worried about where we're going. Some part of me knows that a 'timeout' is not a _good_ thing, but it's a lot more fun to imagine that it's a _sexy_ thing, so I do that until I hear him open a door and the smell hits me.

The corpse room.

"I think this'll _really_ do you some good-" He drops me to my feet and shoves me through the doorway.

I immediately try to rush back through, but he slams the door in my face and _oh god_ , there is already less oxygen in this room. I gag, pinching my nose, but the smell seems to seep in through my pores, it's like I can _see_ it. What I actually can see isn't better at all and _good god_ I should have cleaned this when I first got here, it's _definitely_ gotten worse- and oh _fuck_ , it's moving, the _body_ is _moving_ \- I slam my back against the door as a cascade of _worm_ - _beetle_ -UGH things cascade from an orifice that _barely_ looks like a mouth anymore.

" _Mistah-J-please_ -"

"Please… leave you in there until you learn to behave? _If_ you say so!"

" _Please_! I'm real sorry but there are- _Hrk_ \- " Oh god I'm gonna blow chunks, there are _so_ many of them, "THERE ARE BUGS IN HERE MISTAH J!" There's a startled chuckle, and I see his head tip back through the blood spattered glass.

" _Splen_ did, then you'll have something to do- I think there's an electric fly swatter in there somewhere, _go to town,_ babydoll."

"PLEASE!" Oh _fuck_ they are crawling toward me- " Mistah _J_ I'll do _any_ thing!" His shadow disappears and he can't- this is too much, he can't leave me in here! I'm gonna die- "MISTAH J LET ME OUT, PLEASE!" I'm slamming both fists against the glass now but I can't feel it, all I can feel is absolute _panic_.I can't _breathe_ \- "LEMME OUT YOU FUCKING _BASTARD_!"

 _Nothing_.

He's gone, this is _it_ , I'm _done_ , I'm going to _die_ in here- I whirl around, because as much as it will _kill_ me to see them, I need to know where they are. Oh _god_ \- there are hundreds of unspeakable little creatures scuttling over the body, dripping off it and onto the the floor, _invading_ the rest of the room and-

"OH MY GOD IT'S ON MY _FOOT_!" I give a wild kick that sends the evil thing flying, then I scramble over to a small desk in the corner, leaping onto it and curling myself into a ball. It _touched_ me. It fucking touched me, and my skin is _crawling_. I can't stop thinking about the fact that it was _on_ me, and what if one of them is still on me and I don't know? Oh my _god_ it's going to burrow into my skin- I'm _choking,_ The air is toxic, and my skin is on fire and I want to die, _right_ _now_ , I can't handle this- I'm reaching for a meat cleaver hung on the wall when I hear a few faint notes of his whistle.

" _Fuck you-_ " I croak, even though my throat is raw and the air is wrong, even though it's useless and in this moment I hate him because my life isn't mine to take anymore. He's the only reason I'll ever need to keep going and he knows it.

 _Motherfucker._

I tuck my head down into the neck of my onesie, desperately seeking a barrier against the hell I've been dropped into because the only way I can get through this by tuning out. I focus in on the hot, cramped little space I've created with my body and I pretend it's the _whole_ world, and when that starts to be convincing I imagine _Him_ into it. My tiny universe expands as he fills it up with his smell, the texture of his skin and all his beautiful scars, the sound of his voice and the wicked colour of his eyes. I sink into it gratefully, wrapping him around me and breathing him in, because he's _medicine_.

I can feel his breath on my skin as he whispers sweet things directly into my synapses, his beautiful, electric voice telling me that it's a test, a _challenge_ , and I'll be _such_ a good girl, _so_ much better if I can just get _through_ this. He holds me tight and tells me that I need to be brave, and I need to face it, I need to _feel_ my fear and drink it in until until it makes me drunk and I don't care anymore. His phantom hands pull my arms away from my head, forcing me out of my haven and back into reality.

My heart thuds against my ribs, rattling my eardrums and I'm nauseous, shaking as I push myself off the table and back onto the gorey floor. My knees are threatening to give out but I won't let them because this is for _him,_ so I force myself to look at the body. I want to claw my eyes out because the sight of it alone is enough to make my body fight to run away, but I resist it. It's not the corpse _itself_ , rotting flesh is disgusting but it doesn't turn me inside out- it's the beetles and the maggots and worms that tunnel into it, _feeding_ on it and multiplying gluttonously- there's a click, and light splashes into the room.

"Oh! _Harley_ -" I whirl around and there he is, my glorious, god-blessed Puddin standing in the open doorway "I forgot you were in here!" he giggles. "Be a good girl and pass the meathook, _hmm_?"

" _Daddy!_ " It's more like a sob than an exclamation, and he frowns as I throw myself at him- but he's _here_ , it's over and _I'm_ ok.

" _Meathook_." He snaps his fingers.

 _Right_ \- I grab it off the wall and then run back, slipping past him through the door before he can lock me in again. Safely outside and able to breath again, I present the requested weapon to him with a great big smile.

"Here ya go Mistah J!"

He snatches it from me, narrowing his eyes for a moment before shaking his head and walking back down the hall. He's wearing a hat and trenchcoat so he must be going out and I'm not _ready_ for that yet, I just got him back!

"Hey, where ya _goin_?" I hate the needy sound in my voice, but I still find myself grabbing at _his_ sleeve.

"Gotta pay scaredy-crow a little visit." He sound excited, which means he's _definitely_ going after crane tonight.

"Can I come?" I'm trying my best to keep the panic out of my voice, but I don't think it's working.

" _No_." He shakes off my grip and shoots me a glare as he turns onto the main hallway.

"Why?" He can't leave yet, he can't go fight, anything could happen, I _can't_ lose him- I grab his whole arm instead of his sleeve.

"Because I _said_ so." He snaps, stopping abruptly to throw me off. I stumble back and hit hit floor but I manage to get a good hold on his ankle before he can get away.

" _Please_ Mistah J, lemme come, I can fight you seen it! I'm real useful, I-" He can't go without me, he could die and I wouldn't know, wouldn't be able to stop it.

" _You_ -" He gives a kick "- aren't going anywhere." I try to dodge but his heel glances off my shoulder and it aches as I pull myself up. This can't be it, I have to _try_ \- I run at him as he pushes through the doors into the theater, leaping onto his back and locking my arms around his neck.

"Let me COME!" My voice comes out too loud so I end up shouting in his ear.

"Shut your MOUTH! " He roars, tanking my arms free and throwing me over his head. "-you insufferable brat, you don't _get_ to make demands." I manage to brace for the impact, rolling out of it and getting back up in front of him, and I must be _crazy_ , I must _want_ to die because I put my hands on his chest to stop him.

"Just gimme _one_ reason, _please_ \- just one reason and I'll stay here an' be good, I _promise_ -"

I feel the laughter in his chest before it bursts out of him.

"You're never _good_ -" He grabs a fistful of my hair and shoves my head down so that I have to stumble bent-over as he marches me to the stage. "You're a fucking distraction-" He lets go of my hair, grabbing me by the waist to throw me up onto the platform. " _Let you come-_ " He scoffs, hopping up behind me. "This is business, Harls, you're not an employee-" He snatches one of my wrists and slaps a cuff on it- _no_ , I don't know where he got the cuffs but I'm not surprised he keeps them on hand- "Is that _reason_ enough for you?" He yanks me toward the wings and I have to scramble after him just to avoid having my shoulder dislocated.

When the yanking lets up there's a distinct metallic click and I find myself locked to one of the struts that supports the lighting beams- God _damnit._ I tug desperately, trying to flatten my thumb against my palm so I can slip out, but he put it on _really_ tight. I'm going to have to pick the lock if I want to get out and I have a bobby pin, but it will take _too long_ -

" _Two_ time-outs in _one_ day." He mutters, shaking his head as strides back over to the edge of the stage and hops down. " _Not good at all._ " He's walking away, he's heading for the exit, he's _leaving_ and I'm chained up, I'm fucking useless! I yank harder at my restrained wrist, only managing to draw blood as the metal cuts viciously into my skin.

" _Mistah JAY!_ " My voice is barely there at this point, I'm not even sure he can hear it all the way across the theater but he _can't_ go, I can't lose him- he doesn't look back at all, he just keeps walking-

And just like that he's gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note:** Hello my babies!

Some of you seem worried that Harley is going to get murdered and the relationship won't go anywhere- I promise you that is not the plan.

Part of the reason this is such a slow burn is that I'm trying really hard to keep him in character. For me, believably moving him into a relationship with Harley that involves mutual appreciation (and not just him using her) is going to take time and a lot of lashing out and denial on his part. I can't promise that there won't be angst, but I can promise that I'm working toward their relationship- I just have to do it without him realizing what's happening.

Anyways, I think you guys are going to like this chapter! Be warned there will be gore, fictional drug use, and broken pinkies. As always thank you for the support!

P.S If you're curious about the giant purple um... _weapon_ that J uses in the video game, I suggest you look up 'the penetrator' from Saints Row, it's a real thing.

Love, Sewer Angel

 **CHAPTER 5 : If you wanna make an omelette, you gotta crack a couple skulls**

The moment the door closes behind him, I fall apart.

I let myself collapse as the tears take over, kicking my anger into the floor with flailing feet and screaming my fear into the empty air because _nobody will hear me._ I cry endlessly, I writhe and wrestle against nothing more tangible than feeling itself until exhaustion weighs me down, and finally I feel comfortably numb. I _embrace_ the numb, I draw it in because I need to get my shit together and shut down all the crazy I have going on. I _need_ to show him that I can control myself if he wants me to, I can be _good_ if he wants me to.

So I'm going to have to rebuild Wayne tower.

I force myself to pick the cuffs so I can get up, ignoring the weakness in my knees and shaking it off as I walk, first to my room for my phone and then back to his office so I can _fix_ this. The big doors are closed when I get there, but a push reveals them to be open so I march back into lego-Gotham armed with an actual picture of the tower, and I get to work.

I end up going through a couple different versions because as it turns out, it's not that easy to turn a real building into a lego building- but it's _good,_ I'm doing _good._ Eventually I end up with something that looks passable _and_ uses all the leftover pieces, which is definitely promising... except I'm still worried it's not right _._ I kind of want to take it apart and build it all over again, just _one_ more time, but I might screw it up and- UGH!

It's _fine_.

 _I,_ am fine.

And good.

 _Fuck._

I just need to find something else to do! The first thing I spot is the empty diner tray on his desk so I grab that and while I'm at it _maybe_ I straighten up the papers on his desk a bit. _Maybe_ I take a minute to arrange his crayons by colour but then I make myself leave- I'm being _good_. So I go do the dishes and that leads to a full scour of the kitchen, which leads to a deep clean of my room and bathroom, and I'm thinking about just sweeping the _whole goddamn theater_ when I remember the body. God _damnit_. If I'm cleaning I have to clean _that_. It's the absolute last thing I _want_ to do, but it might actually be the best way to show him how good I can be- If I'm willing to get hands on with a rotting corpse covered in tiny little fucking _demons_ where's the limit, _right_?

There is none.

So I change into my grossest clothing and I make myself a hazmat suit out of garbage bags and duct tape before sneaking back into his office for a chainsaw and a gas mask- its time for _war_. What do you do when a problem seems overwhelming? You break it down into smaller pieces, and that's _exactly_ what I'm planning on doing to the body- until I actually get back in there and remember just how many _bugs_ there are.

My plastic armor definitely makes it a bit better but there's no way i'll be able to make myself _get_ closer with them crawling all over the place, so I grab a spray bottle, I fill it with bleach and I drench the little fuckers. I'm not at all exaggerating when I say it _pains_ me that I can't hear them scream, and what started as a purely defensive measure turns into an absolute blitz. When there's nothing left of them but tiny carcasses, I take up the chainsaw again and I bring it down on an ankle. The body is all soft and gooey now so it flies _everywhere_ and I'm abundantly glad that I had the foresight to grab the gas mask- although I'm definitely going to have to clean it before I put it back in his office. It gets messier as I move up, but the torso is definitely the worst- I actually think I'm actually _wearing_ most of it.

The skull isn't great either, to be honest.

It takes a surprising amount of time and the chainsaw isn't light _,_ but eventually I get the whole guy diced up and ready to be triple bagged- I am _not_ willing to risk a leak. The process of packing him up is also harder than I thought it would be- he really _did_ get everywhere and as it turns out, liquified human is extremely slippery. I end up skating around trying to grab various chunks and falling into the mess over and over until I give up and get down on my knees. Once I've got most of him bagged, I sweep up the evil little bug carcasess and I throw them in on top of him before going to work with an arsenal of my most noxious cleaning products. I manage to get it _mostly_ clean, but there's definitely going to be a stain.

I think it goes quite nicely with the room though.

I strip out of my suit at the door and shove it into one of the bags, get a clean pair of rubber gloves so I can start carting it all out- the bags are heavy and I don't want to drop them so I have to take them one at a time. I down to the sewer with the first one, walking the usual path until I hit an intersection. The shallow stream of murky sludge that passes through it is running to the right, so I walk that way too until I hit a frankly terrifying drop-off and I toss the first bag into the depths, then I go back for the second. Without the gas mask the smell is really getting to me- the only upside is that the sewer stench dilutes it a little, so I break into a jog on the way back. I'm panting by the time I make it back into the theater, and I'm _dying_ for a shower so I walk quickly for the backstage doors and shove through them.

" _Welcome to your nightmare-_ " The rasping growl that issues from the darkness in the lounge startles a scream out of me, but the clawed hand that swipes out with it has me jumping back- those aren't _claws_ they're _needles,_ Scarecrow is _here!_ He's here and that means something happened to my _P_ _uddin'_ and-

A wild cackle erupts, and a very dishevelled looking Joker steps into the light. His shirt is torn in several places and he's wearing significantly more blood than he was when he left- judging by the state of his nose and mouth at least some of it belongs to him, but it's hard to tell. His makeup is smeared, lipstick running smudged across his jaw and eyeliner dripping down his cheeks from violently euphoric eyes.

"Oh dont have a conniption," He giggles, the pitch of his voice wavering disjointedly like it's not quite under his control. "I'm not going to waste any of this on _you._ Say what you will about Johnny- and I certainly _do_ , but fear gas is a helluva' drug." With that, he turns the glove around and sprays himself in face with a cloud of fear toxin.

Oh my _GOD_.

I scramble back in a panic but the vapor thins quickly as he sucks it down, a greedy light in his eyes when they reappear through the fog. He holds it in for a moment, closing his eyes and tipping his head back, then he exhales it through his nose like some sort of magnificent dragon. I hear the the snap of a clasp and he tugs the glove off, tossing it to the side like a toy he doesn't want to play with anymore. His eyes fall to me and I only have a second to catalogue the amplified mania in his expression before he drops down to hands and knees and follows after me.

I think _I'm_ the new toy!

So apparently _fear gas_ is Joker catnip- His pupils are massive, his grin is ridiculous, and I have a _good_ feeling about this so I scurry back. He gives chase so I roll up to my feet, darting back into the theater and around to the stage. I vault up with a breathless giggle, racing for the lighting struts so I can climb up and I'm _almost_ there when he gets ahold of one of my pigtails. He yanks me back and _he_ thinks he's got me, but I twist to bring my forearm down on his wrist and it breaks the hold. He laughs as I stagger back to settle into a fighting stance, and then he tackles me to the ground. I hit hard and the force of it winds me but my body reacts on instinct and I manage to throw him off, rolling back so I can get to my feet- I'm only up for a few seconds when he sweeps them out from under me.

I take the fall well but he gets me by the waist before I can crawl away, flipping me over onto my back and pinning my wrists. I struggle against him, trying to break his grip but I'm weak from laughter and arousal, so it's a lost cause and we both know it- he presses his thumbs into the tendons on the insides of my wrists, and pain shoots down my arms to melt me into the floor. My toes curl, and I just want to kiss him. He tips his head to the side, goofy smile unwavering, and I just want to kiss him. He leans in, and my heart goes off like a drumroll, and-

He _sniffs_ me?

" _So_ , you smell disgusting-" He chuckles in a matter-of-fact manner. "What _is_ that alluring perfume?"

"Oh-" I cringe- I'd been hoping the garbage bag suit had kept the smell at bay, but apparently not. " _Um_ , I just cleaned up that body-"

He blinks, expressionless for a fraction of a second, and then something gorgeous spreads over his face.

"...You just ...cleaned up that body." He repeats.

"Uh, yeah? I just figured I'd make it up to ya for-"

"No need to make excuses Harley, this is a _safe_ _space-"_ There's a glint in his eye and I don't know where he's going but I don't trust it- safe space my _ass_. "It's all very natural, you two were _thrust_ together by happenstance and the attraction was undeniable-" wait _what_? "You just couldn't wait to get back in there could you?"

"I-"

"Of course you did!" He's starting to laugh now, the safe-space veneer shattering under pressure. "Some people like to crack open a cold one with the boys, others want a cold boy to crack them open- like I said _perfectly natural._ "

 _Oh god-_

"We _didn't-_ " _Fuck_ , I'm doing that squeaky thing. "I ain't into that!"

"Oh _forgive_ me- it's just that this is _hardly_ appropriate attire for corpse disposal-" He snorts, popping an eyebrow. I glance down at myself, trying to ignore the embarrassed twinge in my stomach when I realize I'm still wearing my gross clothes- a ratty GCU t-shirt and a pair of underwear that say Friday on the butt.

God _damn_ it, Harley.

"Then again it's an odd choice for necrophillic seduction as well- what _exactly_ are you going for? You started off at sorority girl on Halloween, escalated to toddler at naptime and now…" He screws up his face like he's really trying to figure it out. "I don't know, mid-life crisis?"

"Well I didn't wanna wear my nice clothes and get people juice on em!" There's a wash of insecurity under my protest and he latches onto it, eyes crinkling with delight.

"People juice _indeed."_ My brow furrows when I realize what that sounds like and I open my mouth to try and defend myself, but he shuts it with two fingers under my chin.

" _Hush_ , you'll only make it worse- am I to understand that the giant baby outfit was… _nice_ clothing?" He snickers- my face is _burning_ at this point. "Did you wear diapers under your skirts at Arkham?"

" _No_!" My denial is panicked even though I know he's teasing, and I squirm under his gaze.

" _Me_ thinks she doth protest _too much_ -" He smirks.

"No she _don't!_ "

" _-rrrr-_ " At first I think _he's_ growling, but then I realizing it's his stomach and we both pause to look at his belly like it's actually going to say something more.

" _Food_." He translates curtly, and then he's on his feet sprinting for the backstage doors in five seconds flat.

I lie there stunned for a minute, then I snap back and get up to follow him out. I only catch the tail end of him heading into the kitchen as I step into the the hall, but it looks like there's something on his _back._ I dash down the hall after him, and when I enter the room I find him standing in front of the fridge- I wish I could say the most eye catching thing about the rear view is the _rear_ view, but right now it's the distinctly bat-shaped blade sticking out between his shoulder blades.

"Oh my _gawd!_ " How the _hell_ does he not feel that! How did _I_ not notice it before?

" _Now, now, dearest_ \- there's no need for such formality," He giggles over his shoulder. " _Gawd_ was my father's name." He throws open the refrigerator with such force that the door slams against the wall behind it.

"Heh, _yeah_ ," How do you casually tell someone that they've been stabbed? "Um- you just got a little _somethin_ stickin outta your back Pud-" I suck the rest of the pet name back into my mouth the moment I realize what I'm saying, but he doesn't seem to _notice_ this time- he's more invested in a thorough investigation of the cucumber he's just pulled out of the fridge.

"What the _hell_ is this?" He demands, brandishing the vegetable at me like a foil, and I'm just trying to figure out if he's joking or if this is _actually_ the first time he's seen a cucumber but apparently I'm taking too long because he slaps me in the face with it.

He slaps me with a _cucumber_ , and then he takes a great big bit out of it. He chews once, twice, and his curious expression turns to disgruntled offence.

"Tastes like _water-_ " He spits it onto the floor, sticking out his tongue and scraping it with his teeth like a child- I know I'm going to have to clean that up, but he is _stupidly_ adorable right now.

"Y'know we got pizza too-" I'm trying to keep the laughter out of my voice because he's looking at the cucumber with such immense betrayal that it's almost sad.

"Pizza?" He repeats, narrowing his eyes like pizza might be code for more cucumbers.

"Uh-huh, buncha different kinds-" I reach tentatively past him to open the freezer and he allows it, peering over my shoulder.

"Pepperoni?" He still sounds suspicious and this time I can't hold the giggles back.

"Thick crust or thin?" He makes a disgusted noise in response to the question and I get another cucumber smack on the head.

"Thick!" He exclaims like it would be an insult to assume otherwise. I roll my eyes but really I'm the happiest I've been all week- this is going _shockingly_ well!

I pull out a box of thick crust pepperoni and I'm just about to stick the pizza in the oven when I hear the fridge swing open again. I look over to find him half inside it, rummaging around and tossing anything that doesn't seem interesting over his shoulder. At this angle the batarang between his shoulders stands sharply to attention, and _he_ might not feel it but it's definitely hurting _me_. One good knock and that thing could pierce a lung! So I can't chicken out, this is for him so I gotta do it now-

I sneak up behind him, I get a good grip on the blade, and I yank.

I hear a sharp intake of breath, freezing as he turns slowly to face me. If possible his pupils have swollen further, easily eclipsing the deep green they swim in- he looks hungry and I feel very _warm_. Then he sees the bloody batarang between my fingers and he snatches it away, his expression quickly turning covetous.

"How _thoughtful_..." At first I think he's talking about me, but then he finishes the sentence. "He _never_ lets me keep souvenirs!" I think the bat-glove in his office would say otherwise, but I keep that opinion to myself. _Why am I not surprised?_ I'm about to roll my eyes when a disturbing possibility pops into mind-

"Do ya… think he can track those things?" My shoulders hunch anxiously up as I ask the question but he waves away my concern.

"Not this kind-" His thumbs run reverent along the sharpened edge. "This little beauty is retro… only meant for _hurt_." His smile stretches wide with this apparent revelation, and he giggles as he tucks the blade into his jacket, turning back to the fridge.

He returns to his rummaging so I take the opportunity to sneak away and get some first aid supplies from my room. When I come back I find him sitting with his legs splayed out in front of the fridge, chugging grape soda straight from the two litre bottle. I'm setting my supplies up on the counter, trying to figure out if I warn him or if I should just go for it when my pizza timer goes off and startles me halfway across the room. He lets out a trumpet-like blast of laughter at my over-reaction, then pulls a broken purple crayon out of his pocket and starts to draw on the fridge. I want to sit down and watch, but the pizza will burn and I need the pizza to keep him occupied while I stitch him up, so I make myself turn away and pull it out of the oven.

He starts snatching slices as soon as I've cut them and the happy little sounds he makes through the cheese and dough have me grinning like an idiot as I settle down behind him to thread my suture needle. I soak a cotton ball in iodine and I hold my breath, praying for mercy before dabbing it against the wound. He doesn't react as I wipe away the blood and I thank my lucky stars, but when I finally gather the courage to pierce his skin he stops munching, and a little shiver runs down his spine.

I freeze.

I'm all geared up to panic but _that's_ _it_ , just a little shiver and a trail of goosebumps, and then he goes back to his eating. My hands are shaking so I have to take a couple deep breaths before I can go back to my sewing, but the second stitch is _different_. The fear is diluted so the sensation of it rushes to the front of my consciousness- the initial resistance and then the miniscule _pop_ as the needle penetrates dermis, the slick _glide_ of it beneath the surface and the way the thread _tugs_ the skin as I pull it through.

I… don't think stitches felt like this in med school.

Inevitably I'm a bit overwhelmed as I start on the last one, but muscle memory takes over and in the end there are three neat little stitches in his perfect porcelain skin. He still hasn't acknowledged my ministrations beyond the shivers and goosebumps, so I let my fingers drift across the ridged of his shoulder blades before I pull myself away. I need to bandage him up but when I go to grab the gause from the counter I realize I must have forgotten it in my room. I rush back to fetch it as fast as I can but this time when I get back to the kitchen he's just _gone_.

There's cucumber spit on the floor, a purple crayon batman head on the fridge and a slice of pizza stuck to the wall, sliding slowly down with a gooey cheese trail, but there's no _Puddin_. My first thought is to check his office, so I go with the instinct and I know I'm right the moment I turn down the hall- I can hear the looney toons theme song! I race the rest of the way, making sure to slow down in advance so I don't go all king kong on lego gotham again and I find him sprawled out on the blow-up couch with bugs bunny on the big screen.

There's something else playing on one of the smaller T.V.s, and when I get closer I realize he's hammering away at a playstation controller. On screen, a tall man in a thong and suit jacket runs erratically through the streets of an animated city, batting random citizens into traffic with a purple bat... _Wait_ no, not a _bat_ , a giant purple dildo- he's playing saints row! I used to play the second one all the time, but this one looks _newer-_ I scamper through his eclectic array of seats to perch on the end of the couch and watch. When I get there I realize his lips are moving and it takes me a few minutes to recognize that he's mouthing along with the dialogue on the big screen. I don't even think he's _looking_ at it, he honestly seems more focused on the ambulance he's currently hijacking, but he does every character's lines with perfect timing and enough facial performativity to make up for the lack of sound.

I'm so amazed that I end up gawking but it's short lived, because his elbow swings up to knock my mouth shut and I tip backward off the arm of the couch, squawking in alarm as he snickers. I've just picked myself up when I hear a rustling sound, and I realize he's trying to grab a bag of gummy worms with his foot, but it's _just_ out of reach. I giggle, crawling over to grab it for him and then dangling a worm over his mouth. He opens up, I drop it in, he chews and then he opens up for more, so I just sit there grinning and feeding him gummy worms until he puts a foot on my face to push me away. He doesn't push too hard though, so I just kinda lie down on the floor in front of him and settle in. I could watch him play for hours but I've been awake for _way_ too long and eventually I start to get warm, my eyelids get heavy and I'm already fading in and out, so I'll just rest my eyes for a second…

….

….

….

Oh _god_ , I think my back has fused with the floor.

My whole body aches as I roll over onto my side and my neck cricks so for a few minutes I can't move, breathing in hard little puffs as the cramp slowly releases. I collapse onto my front in relief, working up some motivation and then pushing myself up. I have to take it slow because the process of straightening out has me in agony, and I'm alone in his office now so I do a little stretch routine to work out the kinks.

 _Heh-_ well, not _all_ of them.

Once I'm mobile again, I find my phone and I check the time- it's twelve-thirty, so we've missed breakfast, but I guess pizza was early breakfast? Either way it's definitely lunch time and I'm already on my way to the kitchen when I remember that I always deliver meals to his _office_ , and he isn't there right now- where the _hell_ is he?

I do a quick sweep through the living area, finding no trace of him that wasn't there last night- aside from the fact that he appears to have come back to finish off the rest of the pizza, and while that's heartening, it's not _help_ ful right now. With a mounting panic I race through the theater then down into the basement and back up and there's _still_ no sign of him. So I walk back around the perimeter of the theater, sliding one hand along the wall like I'm going to find some sort of secret door, and _that's_ blatantly ridiculous- but I _do_ find a door I didn't notice before.

It's in the very back corner, tucked away into the shadows with a modest little handle and a brass plate that identifies it as the projection room. I try the handle and it's open so I push through, finding myself at the base of a stairwell with another door at the top. I ascend the stairs slowly, a mounting sense of anticipation urging me to look for clues after I notice a discarded pizza crust on one of the steps, but I don't find anything more than a bloody handprint on the door at the top. The print is about his size, but the blood is dried and cracking, so it couldn't have been made recently. I try the door- carefully, in case he's in there, but it's locked.

So basically all I have is a pizza crust and an old blood stain-

"-Mr President! ... _Not on you life_ -" Ok, that's definitely _him_ \- I press my ear up against the door, and I he's still talking but it's a struggle to actually make it out. "-ridiculous... Well I'm not Monica _L_ _ewinsky…_ " And he's _totally_ sleep talking again- I _love_ it.

Fuck I wish I was in there with him.

I know that he's got trust issues and it's only _natural,_ but I just want to lay in bed with him. I want to be wrapped in his arms or curled around his back- I'm not I would be able to sleep, but it wouldn't _matter_. Who needs sleep when you've got Puddin?

But... I'm _not_ in there.

I slide down the door to slump against it and listen to his incoherent ramblings until he quiets down, then I lay flat to peek through the crack at the bottom of the door. I can actually see a bit into the room, it's cluttered and confusing but I do spot the base of a bed and the purple duvet hanging off it. There's a little creak and then his feet hit the floor and he walks away from me through another door on the opposite side of the room- he's up! I jump to my feet and race to the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee and grabbing the pancake mix. I'm flipping bacon when I hear him approach, grumbling and shuffling, so I grab the coffee pot to pour him a cup.

" _Mor_ nin' _Pud_ din!" I accidentally sing the greeting and his grumbles get abruptly louder just before he checks me to the side, snatching the coffee pot.

I stumble back, catching myself on the counter to watch him pour his own cup- he's all sour in the face and it's gorgeous, obviously. He's wearing a fuzzy purple robe and a pair of Arkham issue PJ pants but his feet are bare and his toe nails are painted lime green. It looks like he showered because the blood is gone and his face is clean, but he's taken the time to reapply his lipstick and line his eyes. The only real sign that he had a fight last night is a bit of scuffing on his knuckles and some light bruising under his left eye- I'm trying to work up the courage to ask if I can check his stitches when he slams the pot back down on the counter and storms out to his office. I almost want to go after him because now I can't stop thinking about those _stitches_ but it's a horrible idea right now and I know it-

I'll just have to try and get a look at them when I bring him breakfast.

Today I only have to knock once before he's barking at me to come in, so I open the door with a big smile and he greets me with a cursory scowl, gesturing at an empty spot on the corner of his desk. I rush forward, sweeping around the side of lego Gotham to deliver his pancakes with a bow. I discard my plan to play nurse almost immediately because the vibe is decidedly unfriendly in here, so I scamper away like a coward- I do check for my little Wayne tower and it's still erect, so it _must_ have been good enough!

Ha! _Erect-_ I _slay_ me.

After I clean up the kitchen I take a scalding bath to eradicate any trace of that _body,_ and then I crawl into bed for a nice long pre-dinner nap. I'd be kidding if I said I'm only sleeping though- I spend at least as much time with my hand in my pyjama pants as I do asleep. The thing is, nothing _actually_ happened last night but he spent a _lot_ of time on top of me so I'm officially certain that wrestling would be a _very_ effective kind of foreplay. In other words, I've got a lot to work with and I'm pretty sure I'll explode if I don't do something about it- this is basically public service!

I take another shower when I'm done just cause, then I take the time to pamper myself a bit- I curl my pigtails, extend my smile in crimson, and draw cute little black diamonds under my eyes in liner. It's like he can sense when I'm wearing something embarrassing so I'm determined to look presentable today. I pick out a pair of red and white striped tights, pulling them on under a black tutu I've paired with a loony-toonz t-shirt, but it doesn't quite look complete so I tie a red ribbon into a bow around my neck and that's it, it's _perfect_.

I skip out to the kitchen and survey the options… I'm running a bit low on supplies- not dangerously low though, and I still have money left but it can't last forever. But I'll think about that later because it's gonna be a _good_ day, and last night was a _good_ night, so I'm going to make him an awesome dinner and keep chip-chippin' away at that prickly exterior. Who cares if he's all cranky and hungover? Maybe I can change that! I'm whistling and dancing, working up all that good-time energy when I hear someone step into the kitchen behind me and my blood runs icy.

"- _The_ fuck are _you_?"

I whip around in alarm at the unfamiliar voice- the woman leaning against the wall behind me has tawny golden skin and deep, night black eyes that scrutinize me viciously. Her equally black hair is shaved on both sides of her head, but the rest of it is thick and long, braided and hanging over her shoulder. She wears her shredded sex-pistols shirt tucked into leather pants and she's rolled the sleeves of her oversized black trench up to the elbows. She is _unbearably_ cool.

"Hey, _bimbo-_ " Her voice is deep and rich as she claps her hands, stepping forward to tower effortlessly over me. _Goddamn my stupid short legs._ "Why are you here?"

"Harley!" I blurt- _shit_. " I'm his… Harley." _Wow_ , _ever so eloquent._

She snorts, reaching past me to grab a handful of the fruit loops I had poured for myself, and my stomach growls.

"You're his _Harley_?" She snickers. "What the fuck does a Harley do?"

"I'm making dinner!" My voice comes out in a harried squeak and I don't know why I'm _justifying_ myself to this random woman-

"So you're his maid then."

"No! _We're-_ " I don't know what the hell I am- I know what I _want_ to be, but it's far from reality right now. "I'm… I like to help." I just want to go back to my cheese grating and pretend she's not here but every single one of my alarm bells is going off and I really don't feel safe so I can't take my eyes off her.

"... _Yeah_." She crosses her arms, a skeptical tilt to her chin. "Helping is what _maids_ do."

" _No,_ it's..." I _really_ want to slap this girl. " I ain't a _maid,_ I just help cause I care."

"You care so you make him food and shit… dunno that still sounds like a maid." She tosses a bunch of _my_ froot-loops into her mouth and crunches, _loudly_.

I _hate_ her.

"Who even _are_ you?" My response is thick with frustration, stumbling in my mouth as I push it out.

"Why are you so _stressed_ out? _God-_ " She turns and walks away to slouch into a seat. "Aren't maids supposed to be all polite and shit?"

I strangle a frustrated roar, tilting my body so I can keep her in my periphery as I work on dinner. I'm trying really hard to calm down because I'm holding a knife and she's started _drumming_ on the table- it would be _so_ easy to walk over and _stick_ it in her _eye_. She never even told me who she is, she's just a _rude_ stranger in _my_ kitchen! I slam my knife point-down into the countertop-

" _Ooh,_ you're a little bit stepford, aren't you?" She snickers- my shoulders hunch up and my stirring becomes aggressive, but I don't say anything.

I'm not going to freak out! I'm _composed_.

I pick out a selection of gummies and a side of chocolate kisses to serve up with the mac n cheese, and I'm loading it onto my serving tray when she pipes up again, jumping from her seat and following me when I head for his office. I walk a bit faster because I want to stay ahead but then she walks faster too, so I break into a jog and she starts to run, and suddenly we're in a race. I'm at a severe disadvantage because of the tray and I put up my best fight, but she pulls into first place early on. My stomach drops when she reaches the doors but it perks right back up because they don't budge when she yanks on the handles.

" _Ha_!" I shout, slowing just enough to slide my tray safely to the floor before closing the distance, grabbing a handful of her hair, and pulling hard.

She yelps and I am over _joyed,_ but then she gets a grip on my wrist and twists it so I have to let go, and when she turns on me she's grinning. I don't _like_ that, so I knee her in the stomach and she retaliates by slamming my head into the door. My vision tilts with the impact and my head throbs but I manage a sloppy block to an admittedly impressive roundhouse, and that buys me enough time to shake off the dizziness.

She comes after me with a right hook and I duck it, serving her an uppercut that knocks her back a pace and then getting under her guard so I can pull her into a hold and choke her out. She's fast though and she catches my wrist, turning my hold around and she's almost got me so I do the only thing I can think of and sink my teeth into her forearm. She growls, I taste blood and it's all very _distracting_ , so I don't realize that we have a disapproving onlooker until he's whistling in my ear.

" _Down_ , Harley!" I unclamp my jaw and he yanks me back by the neck of my shirt. "You don't bite _guests_." I get a stinging smack on the back of my head then he's heading back into his office and _she's_ following- what the _hell_ is going on here? The door slams in my face and I want to _break_ something-

"Well _fuck_ you!" I want to yell it but I'm already in trouble so I keep my voice down instead and it's not even half as satisfying as it could be. " _Stupid fucking…_ _dumb_ lady- ugh!" I drop into a crouch, clutching my head and digging my nails into my scalp because I'm so fucking _angry_ and _helpless,_ and I _hate_ her, and _she's_ in there with _him,_ and _I_ thought things were getting _better-_ my eyes sting and my throat constricts and then the tears bursts out.

I scuttle away from his door, slumping back against the wall and wrapping my arms around my head to muffle myself. My whole body _aches_ and it has nothing to do with the fight I just got into- I feel like I'm breaking down, eroding, ribs collapsing and snapping as I curl in on myself, piercing my lungs to leave me breathless and floundering for air as the tears overwhelm me. I'm close to hyperventilating now and oh _fuck_ it _hurts-_

"Shade is an informant." I jolt at the new voice, jerking my gaze up to find Roscoe in position outside J's doors- holy cow, that man is _stealthy!_

"What?" I croak, wiping furiously at the wetness on my face as embarrassment hits me like an avalanche.

"He wants information, she likes money. That's all." Roscoe's voice is low and steady, and he doesn't look at me once- which seems compassionate given the circumstances. I push up to my feet as I digest that news, snuffling and swallowing back the residual whimpers.

" _Um-_ " I clear my throat. "Thanks." His mouth tilts a bit- I think he might be _smiling._

"You're welcome, Miss Harley." He gives me a tiny nod and I return a tight little smile of my own. I feel a bit better knowing why she's here and it was sweet of Roscoe to tell me but I still have no idea what do with myself-

"You want somethin' to eat?" I blurt, needing a distraction. "Or some water or juice or coffee or something?"

"No, thank you."

"Ok- uh," A post-cry hiccup escapes me as my diaphragm struggles to keep pace with my breathing. "Have a good, um-" Where am I going with this, have a good _what_? "...Time." Well, I think that's more than enough mortification for one day, so I collect the dinner I didn't get to deliver and I walk away even though I want to run.

I can't think of anything else to do and my heart is starting to thud again so I clean _everythin_ g in the kitchen but that doesn't take long enough, and now I kinda wish I had a stinky, bug-infested body to bury my sorrows in. I'm just about to wrap up the macaroni and put it in the fridge when _she_ barges back into the room with her _stupid_ cocky swagger and marches right up to me- I'd almost be nervous if Roscoe hadn't followed her in.

"Didn't get to thank you for the love bite earlier-" She pushes up her sleeve to show me the angry looking half moon of indents on her arm. "My girlfriend's the jealous type and we have _amazing_ make-up sex." She winks and I feel myself turn tomato red. "Toodles!"

She walks away with Roscoe shaking his head behind her and I just sort of gawk until they're out of sight- I'm honestly not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, my first impression is that Shade is unbearably annoying- on the other I sort of feel proud? I mean that _was_ a good bite, I broke skin!

It takes me a second to realize that I'm still holding the macaroni and he's alone in his office now, so I hurry to unwrap it and warm it up then I plop it back on the tray and speed-walk to his office. The door is cracked so I slip in without a knock and it only takes a half a second to see him hunched over one of his lab tables and realize that was probably a bad idea. I'm about to try and back out when he throws a cursory sneer over his shoulder, so I have to commit. I make my way around a now bombed out lego Gotham- he's kicked it to bits, it's not even recognizable any more and the pieces are strewn all around the room so I have to watch my feet as I walk to his position at the back.

He doesn't turn when I get there, doesn't even acknowledge me and I _know_ he saw me- he just keeps working on whatever chemical mumbo-jumbo he's got going on, muttering inaudibly.

"I'm _really_ sorry I bit your guest, Mistah J." His shoulders hunch up and oh fuck, this is _not_ going well- "I brought you some dinner- I can just put in on your desk an-"

" _No-"_ He snaps. "I don't _want_ that, take that _away_."

 _Shitshitshit-_

"Is there anything I can-"

" _Get_. _Away_."

Suddenly there's a pistol in my face, and he's still not looking at me but the rage is just _radiating_ off him so I take a few quick steps back and then I turn around to walk out as fast as I possibly can. I don't breath until I'm outside and even then I wait until I've carefully closed the doors behind me- _fuck_.

I walk back to the kitchen like my legs are on autopilot, but my vision is starting to blur around the edges and my hands are shaking and- I was an _idiot_ to think I'd made progress. I just can't _fricken_ get it right! Everything I do is _wrong,_ and even when I score a couple points nothing changes! I spend most of my time in a state of panic and he rarely treats me with anything other than disregard or fury, but even when I think he _hates_ me, he's still my favourite person in the world and it _hurts_. He's _joyful_ and _irresistible_ , he's the most most fun I've ever had and he could threaten me at gunpoint a million times, I don't care because he's worth anything he can throw at what if I can never be right?

What if I just keep annoying him and frustrating him and slowing him down- what if I make him _unhappy_?

 _I feel nauseous._

Self hatred and fear turn to bile, churning my stomach and clawing up my esophagus to fill my mouth- I double over the sink and spew up what little I had inside me. When the retching stops I rinse my mouth out with cold water and rest my head against the counter, squeezing my eyes shut and praying for the spinning to stop. I need something, anything to make this just a _little_ bit better, _just_ enough to make it bearable because this feeling is _agony_ , and darkness, and shame and I think it could break me-

Shower- _I just need a shower._

I stumble back to my room and strip down, turning it on hot and getting in. I feel chilled deep inside and the water does nothing to thaw it, the steam only _thickens_ and _thickens_ until it chokes me, _and this was a bad idea._ I fumble desperately to turn the water off and then I'm tumbling out, barely taking the time to dry myself before pulling on clothes and running for the basement exit. The air outside is cold and _mercifully_ calming, the sky an inky blue that suck me in as I wander- It takes me awhile to get my mind off the tension, and I know it's only short term but it's all I have.

Out _here_ I can pretend that things are different- I can pretend I'll get home and it'll be late but I'll go into the back of the theater and up the stairs to his room.

I'd do everything in there that I do in _my_ room, and then I'd get into _his_ bed to I'd curl up in _his_ sheets, pressing my face into _his_ pillows and breathing him in. I'd fill my lung with him but it wouldn't be desperate because I'd be able to do it every night. I'd slip easily into sleep and I'd have happy dreams until a weight on the mattress would breach my consciousness and then there would be ice cold toes on my thighs, jarring me awake with a yelp. He would giggle and after I'd gotten over the shock I would too, I'd kiss his nose and he'd _let_ me. He'd drape an arm over my shoulders so I'd tuck myself into his chest, pressing an ear to his sternum and listening to the steady thump-thump. I'd rise and fall with the tide of his breath until warm darkness welled up to submerge us.

I think he would be the first one to wake up.

He might push me out of bed for a laugh and I would screech when I hit the cold floor, but I'd crawl back into bed giggling and grabbing at him. If I was bold I might try to start a little wrestling match and if he was in a good mood maybe he'd stay in bed a little longer. If he was in a really good mood though, maybe he'd go further- and hey, this is _my_ fantasy after all, _I'm_ allowed to decide- so he _does._ He _does_ go further, and maybe we have lazy morning sex or maybe he fucks me hard but either way it's delicious. And afterward… afterword, we would shower together and that would be _delicious_ too, and _then-_

" _Nice_ _ass,_ baby- you legal?"

The slurred taunt rips me out of my carefully crafted reverie and I stumble as I slam back into reality. I look around frantically to get my bearings- my vision is strangely distorted, a bit like a videogame in some unidentifiable way. I try to blink it back but it doesn't work so It takes a second to figure out where I am, but I do eventually recognize the block. I'm just outside the parking lot but there's a man standing on the sidewalk in front of me, blocking my path. I try to look him in the eye because I don't want to seem weak but his features seem to shift and change as my gaze passes over them so I have to look away.

"- _Fuck off_ -" I hear the growl but if it weren't for the vibration in my chest I wouldn't know it came from me.

He yells something back but I can't decipher it through the white noise collecting against my ear drums, and then he _lunges._ I want to dodge it but my body isn't listening and suddenly he's got me by the arms and it _hurts,_ and he smells like stale beer, and I _can't_ take this, I need to get _away_ , _I-_

"Fuckin' _bitch-"_ His breath is hot and _awful_ on my face and everything is _wrong_ , I can't breath, and the world warps violently.

Then my body moves.

My knee rams up between his legs and he goes down, so I _kick_ and I _kick_ , and I _love_ the sound, love the pathetic way his body curls in on itself. I want more so kick it in the head and it stops moving, and I _wish_ I had a knife, but some part of me knows I'm in the middle of the street so I grab it and I start dragging it home.

Down below the streets I heft it over my shoulders and I march because I need tools and toys, and I'm going _home_. Down here in the dark I march, and _it's_ heavy in my grip but I feel strong, and I don't hurt- I only feel the fire. I am both painfully close and miles away, my mind buried under something base. I don't _think_ , I _move_ and I have a purpose that I feel in my bones, so _even_ when I walk into the burning light I adapt. _Even_ though I don't know to hit the buttons in the wall my fingers do the work and the wall drops away to I can run- first through more darkness then up the stairs and into more light. I drop my prize at the top so I drag it instead, _all_ the way back through the bright halls, all the way to the back and into a dark little cave just for me.

I take a sharp thing from the cave wall, and I stab it down.

The body screams and moves so I push it down and I dig the sharp thing in again, and again- I feel warm and _good_ under all this red but I need _more, I need-_ I'm panting when I realize my fingers are wrapping around the handle of a big hammer because the hammer is _right,_ the hammer will _destroy_ so I bring it up over my head and I swing it _down._

The swing of the hammer is _everything,_ the sound, the iron smell, the _heat-_ everything is swing and crack, wet and red, _hammer_ , and _me_ , and _it,_ and everything is _mine._ My cave, my sound, _my_ red because I make it, and this is _everything_.

Swing. Hammer. Crack. Red. Wet. Heat. Swing-

" _Were you planning to share?_ " That voice is low, familiar to my bones, and I feel the shape of the sounds but I have no idea what they mean.

There is something long and crooked in my cave.

It's a _living_ sharp thing and all I can think is that it might take my _things_ , so I grab at the body, my red, I need to get it _all_ and keep it _away-_

"Harley, _snap out of it_. I haven't eaten since breakfast-" The long thing steps forward and my panic explodes because I don't know what it is and I need to _protect_ , so I swing my hammer- _"-Oh for gods sake."_

Hammer halts mid-swing as the long thing pulls it from my grip, and _that's_ not ok, I _need_ that, that's _MINE-_ I launch myself after my hammer but the long thing throws me off and I hit the wall. I _hear_ the crack, feel the impact, but sensation is far away as I throw myself forward again- I am _teeth_ and _fury_ but the long thing is _fast_ and _strong_ , and it traps my arms around my chest, lifting my feet off the floor.

"Harley, _stop_ _it-'_ ' I thrash and kick but it gets hold of my legs too. "LISTEN-" Its face is pointed and it stares at me with green fires that _burn_ , so I squeeze my eyes shut and I keep fighting.

"FINE!" Blinding, obliterating light floods my cave and then the long thing hauls me out into a bright, _horrible_ place.

There's a violent pounding in my chest and I think I'm going to explode until the long thing tightens it's grip around me. My protest is weak now because everything is tight and heavy, and my face is wet, _soaking_ wet, and everything is _sticky_ \- theres a click and a slam, then the sway of motion stops abruptly and I'm launched, ripping through the air for scant seconds before I crash into a small, hard, white place. This place is _bad_ and I don't _like_ it, I want to go back to the long thing now, and I'm reaching for when it when I hear a hiss- a rain of ice comes down on me and the panic rears up again in full force.

The thing is low now and it grabs me, keeping me under the spray even as I struggle and kick to climb out. The cold is sharp on my skin and I can feel _everything_ under it- the jarring of my hands and knees, the weight of my body, every _aching inch of skin_.

" _LET GO_ -" That was _my_ voice, _I_ said that _-_ "LET GO OF ME!" Something hard hits my cheek and my head whips to the side as a hot sting spreads across my face.

" _What_ do you _want_?" The roar drills into my brain and makes it hazy, but I _understand_ those words, I know _want_.

"Wanna go BACK!" My voice is sharp and wild and it hurts my ears but I can't stop it- " Lemme' GO! _PLEASE,_ _need_ it, WASN'T _DONE-"_

" _Oh_ yes, you _certainly_ were."

" _NO!_ Let me-"

" _Harley_ -"

"NO!" It hits me again from the other side- it hits me with a _hand_ , with _white_ _skin_ and then it looms close with a face like a painting. I _know_ it, I know that face but I can't put it together and I want _OUT_ -

" _Look_ at me Harley, _look at Daddy_." For some reason, I look up at it-

At _him._

He's so close that it aches but I don't understand _anything_ , my mind is static, _all_ _static_ and I don't know how to _breathe_ -

"You're _Harley_ , and you're in the shower." I'm not entirely sure that either of those things are true, and I start to shake my head but he grabs my chin. "You're _Harley_ and you used to be the dumbest little psychiatrist in _all_ of Arkham, you're _Harley_ and you talk too much and you have grabby hands, and I've been eating the fruit loops you thought you were hiding under the sink, _y_ _ou're_ Harley, and _I'm_ -"

"…Puddin'?" There's a long pause and a sigh.

"Unfortunately." And he _is!_ He's _here_ and he has been this whole time.

Everything that had been rioting under my skin- everything scared, angry, and lost- switches course, the fire of it catapulting me forward. My vision is still overexposed, blurred and spinning but I _feel_ it when I hit his body, and then we're crashing out of the shower stall. There is no hesitation, no fear or insecurity- I feel nothing but _want_ as my lips crash into his.

It's only teeth and scar tissue at first but then he lets me in, grabbing my arms and yanking them off him- I growl at that, wrestling back and he bites me, so I drive my elbow into his stomach. He grunts I can feel his grin before he gives a hard tug on my hair and flips me over onto my back, our teeth clacking as my head cracks against the tile. Stars jump in front of my eyes, and he's _here-_ he's holding one of my wrists to the floor and I slip it free as he fights me for the other, giggling wildly into his mouth then dragging my nails down the side of his neck. He does something devastating with his tongue, using my resulting weakness to catch both my free hands and slam them down on the floor- then he bends one of my thumbs so far back that I scream.

That makes him kiss me _harder._

The world spins like a Tilt-o-Whirl and I feel like I'm _melting,_ violently _combusting_ and he's _everywhere_. I dig my fingers into his hair and a delicious vibration hums through his chest as he takes my pinkie, twisting it back like he did with my thumb. I feel the surge of pain and it sets my whole body on fire, making my back arch against his new grip on my neck. I manage to hook one of my knees over his hip and then I can _feel_ him, _so_ close, and I _want_ \- he twists my pinky further and I hear a snap. The pain hits _deep_ this time and I feel like I'm _drowning_ in it, like I'm gulping it down as he devours my cries. My hips buck up and he tightens his grip on my broken finger to make me scream again, but then I can _really_ feel him-

He's _hard-_ _f_ _uck_! _Yes_!

I honestly can't help the way I'm grinding against him now and I'm starting to think I might _lose_ it if he keeps this up- but then he lets go of my finger. He pulls away from me and all I can feel is his absence but he holds me down so I can't follow. I try to reach for him but he grabs my forearm and rolls me over to wrench it up behind my back, plunging a new pain through my shoulder and into my back. I bite down even through my lip is bloody and my moan sounds through it anyway- he laughs against the back of my neck.

"Are we feeling a little more _cooperative_ now, Harls?" I nod without really listening to the question and he presses a knee into my lower back. "You've been a real _brat_ today- did you think about me at _all_?"

" I-"

" _Shut up_ , you've lost your speaking privileges." I want to ask for an incentive to keep quiet but sense is creeping back to me, and I've got enough of it to recognize that now is not the time to be greedy. "You've been utterly in _su_ ff _er_ able. Was that in _tentional_ , were you _trying_ to ruin my day?" I open my mouth but I catch myself at the last second, shaking my head no instead."Of course not," he purrs. "You want to make daddy happy." I nod again and my cheek squeaks against the wet tile.

"-And you know I'm not _happy_ when I'm _hungry._ I don't like having to track you down, and as entertaining as your gremlin impression is, there's a reason I don't keep rabid animals as _house pets_." There are fingers in my hair, deceptively soft until they tug sharply at the ends." Rabid animals don't have manners _Harley_ , they don't come when you call and they'll bite until you have to force their jaws open. You use them for attack, and then you put them _down_. I'm not in the market for a rabid animal. I want a _good_ girl- do you want to be a _good_ _girl_?" I nod, and he lifts his knee off my back to straddle me, leaning a bit closer.

"Then deal with your _shit_ before you blow up," He growls. "-And _don't_ let it interfere with your job." My _job?_ He lets go of me, and I gasp as blood rushes back into my arm. "Dinner better be _mind-blowing_." He delivers the line like he's angry but I can _hear_ the smile under it-

I don't think I can move.

Everything hurts and I've ever been happier in my life- or hornier for that matter. I certainly have a lot to _mull_ over, I mean good _god_ , if I'm not mistaken he was _into_ that! Obviously not enough to do something about it, but _still_. I flop panting onto my back, staring up into the fluorescent-white lights. I consider finishing myself off right here on this bathroom floor and it's a nice thought- actually it's a lotmore than that, but I have a _job_ to do.

I'll gladly deal with my shit later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors note:** Guess who isn't dead? Me!

Before you start reading I'll just warn you that there's some mention of prostitution here as well as some sexual content along with the usual dose of gore and violence. Fun stuff!

On a slightly unrelated note, music is a big part of my writing process and I was thinking it might be cool to post the playlists I have for this fic's Joker and Harley on spotify or something, so let me know if you guys would be into that and I'll get on it.

As usual I'm sorry this fic is taking so long, and thank you all for sticking around anyways- your reviews truly warm my shrivelled lil heart. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

XOXO

 **Chapter 6: It takes two to tango but three makes it interesting**

It takes me a while to actually get up from the floor and turn off the shower but I think that's understandable since I've just experienced a miracle. I'm in the dressing room next to my room so I hurry over and strip out of my soaking clothes before hopping into my own shower. For one, I'm freezing, and for two, I still got people juice on me so I'm due for a good scrub. If my hand spends more time between my thighs than on the soap it's only cause _I just made out with the Joker._

The Joker! The love of my life, the man of my dreams, my entire fucking purpose- after all this time I just kissed him and he kissed _back_! The memory feels too good to be true but it _is_ , it's fucking _real_ and I have the bruised lips to prove it. Oh- and also the broken pinky.

The endorphins are starting to wear off but if I bend my pinky I get another dose, and I know I'm probably making the break worse but _he_ did this and it just feels _so_ good. Almost like it did when it first happened, when he was on top of me on the bathroom floor, his tongue in my mouth and his hips against mine… I shudder under the hot water. _Fuck._ I know I should get out of the shower but I feel drunk on the thought of him hard, pressing against me, hot and cold and- I _have_ to get off just one more time before I turn off the water.

I put a hasty splint on my pinky and hustle out to the kitchen, my mind already starting to race under the pressure of ' _dinner better be mind blowing_ '. What does mind-blowing mean _specifically_? Because I'm honestly worried that whatever it is, it's above my skill level. I pace around, throwing cupboards open, anxiety racheting up as I realize how few ingredients I have left to work with. I rush back to my room to check the bundle of cash I have stashed under my mattress and it's horribly underwhelming. I have about enough left for one big grocery haul, but that's not really helpful right this moment so...I'm going to spend it on take-out.

 _I_ might not be able to make a mind blowing dinner but Gotham is a nocturnal city so there are a ton of twenty-four hour restaurants that do take out. I scan reviews for a while before phoning orders in for sushi, pizza, a bunch of Chinese food, and one of those burgers with a donut bun. I'll stop by a bakery on the way home to pick up a selection of desserts and that should just about empty my metaphorical bank account, but at least _one_ of those things has to qualify as mind-blowing, right?

I'll deal with the money problem later.

I change into a disguise-type outfit, pulling on a wig and grabbing a backpack so I can carry it all safely, then I head out through the sewer entrance. My old car is still in the parking lot above and it would be _so_ much easier to take it but it's not worth the risk. I _did_ use it in a jailbreak so... yeah.

 _Ugh_.

A car nears the lot and I'm expecting it to pass by. No one ever seems to come here, there are never any other cars parked, but this one slows down and the headlight swing toward me as it pulls in. It's too late to hide behind one of the dumpsters so I set what seems like a normal pace and I keep my eyes forward as I head for the gates. The engine switches off and I hear the door open so I pick up the pace, I don't need trouble right now and with _my_ luck-

"Miss Harley?" The now comfortingly familiar voice stops me in my tracks and a relieved little smile pops up on my face as I spin around to face him.

"Roscoe!" My voice is too loud and too excited, but the hulking man doesn't seem to take notice as he steps away from a black S.U.V., clicking the keys over his shoulder to lock it.

"You're leaving." I notice that his eyebrows are pulled together as he gets closer and it almost makes him look worried even though his voice is characteristically monotone.

"Oh, to pick up food!" I say it fast for some reason, like I'm reassuring him. His expression remains neutral as he nods, but his shoulders seem to relax.

"Do you need a drive?" He clasps his his hands behind his back, his posture pulling up straight, and the effect is oddly formal. I bite my lip- I _really_ don't want to walk to all those places. But if Roscoe is here it's probably cause J needs him for something, and I don't want to hold him up- then again, my Puddin' _also_ requested that mind-blowing dinner, and I'd be able to get it to him a lot faster if I had a ride.

"Um...ok." I clear my throat. "I mean yes, please, thank you _so_ much Roscoe-" He gives me yet another nod, turning around and heading back to his car. "Are you sure?" I can't help it, I'm not trying to hurt my cause, I'm just _worried_.

"Yes." His answer is muffled as he crosses around to the driver side, opening the and door. I pull open the passenger door and climb up, stowing my backpack at my feet.

"Its just, I don't wanna make you late if you got something to do for Mistah J, I got like-" I stop and take a moment to count. "Five places to got to, an' that's kinda a lot, so I'd totally understand if-"

"My job-" He starts quiet, but there's something so innately momentous in his tone that I just want to shut up and listen. "- is to take care of things for him. " He turns the keys and pulls out of the lot, and I'm not sure if he's planning on finishing that sentence. It doesn't seem like a real answer until I realize the implication and then I can't stop smiling.

"I'm kinda one of his things, ain't I?" He doesn't answer but I'm giddy on the implication alone and my cheeks are starting to ache as I swallow a spurt of giggles.

Rosco seems like a guy who likes his quiet and I want respect that, but I ain't too good at quiet and I only manage to keep it up for a few minutes. I end up bouncing my knees and humming through the dead air but he doesn't seem to mind- I guess it makes sense, if he spends any measurable amount of time with J he's gotta be used to some noise. That makes me smile a bit- for all intents and purposes, Roscoe doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who would _want_ to work for the clown prince. He's too composed, too understated and efficient- I did intake interviews for some of J's lower level henches at Blackgate and there was definitely a type. They were loud, brash, and aggressively antisocial, the kind of person with a damaged frontal lobe and something to prove, essentially the opposite of Roscoe.

How the hell did he end up _here_?

I put the question aside as we reach the bakery, thanking Roscoe for about the sixth time and hopping out to go pick peruse the sweets. Inside, I remember how little I've eaten today because _holy shit, everything looks amazing._ After nearly drooling myself to death I remember I've got a time limit, so I pick out a pie and a selection of cupcakes, and then I'm on my way.

When we get back to the theatre Roscoe ( _the angel)_ helps me to carry everything inside, then nods his goodbye and heads off to J's office. I get to unpacking everything, serving it all up on dinner plates with proper cutlery then waiting until I hear the office doors open to make my appearance. Roscoe looks up at my approach and turns to hold the door open before it closes, so I give him a little smile before I force myself to look at J. For a split second he's looking like a confused puppy with his head tipped to the side, but he rights himself so quickly I wonder if I made it up as his mouth presses promptly into a haughty smirk.

" _So_ ," He drawls, arching one green brow. "I see we've gone with a barrage attack." There's derision in his tone but he waves a hand over his desk for me to put my tray down and he's staring intently at the donut burger in particular, so I'm not all that discouraged.

I hustle forward to deliver the bounty and he sets in on it almost immediately, filling my heart with fireworks. He's pretty much giving me a gold star! I watch with unbridled joy as he swallows a bite of burger, following it with a hunk of wasabi and a spicy tuna roll. I'll have to do sushi more often, it's obviously a hit and it's a good way to get some fish and veggies into him-

"You can _leave_ now." His voice startles out of my imaginary grocery list, and it takes a second for the meaning to sink in and deflate me.

I don't _want_ to leave.

I don't want to wait for hours to see him again! I could _help_ , I could be quiet, I think I could be completely fucking invisible if he wanted me to, but he won't give me a chance!

"Oh." It comes out of me involuntarily like a sigh, morose and unfortunately whiny.

" _What_ -" He tosses a forkful of chow mein aside, standing abruptly from his desk. "Is there something you _want_?" His tone is sharp enough to cut so I force my head to shake no, even though all I want to do is climb over his stupid desk and make him love me. Instead I just I bow my head and I walk out.

The moment the door closes behind me I run back to my room, throwing myself petulantly onto my bed like a sullen teenager and punching frantically at my pillows until I'm breathless. I collapse, curling around a teddy and squeezing my eyes. Ok, so maybe it was stupid to hope that he'd let me hang out just cause we got a little frisky. It's not like I'm expecting everything to change all at once! I just… all I want is to spend time with him! But he's always hiding himself away and…

I'm not _alone,_ but this is the loneliest feeling in the world.

Maybe I need a friend. It's not healthy to spend all of your time thinking about your boyfriend right? I flop despondently onto my back, a hopeless weight sinking into my stomach. I mean how am I supposed to make friends _now_? I wasn't great at it before on account of the fact that I ain't too good at relating to most people, and my new lifestyle isn't likely to make that easier. So I'm pretty much screwed.

… Or maybe I'm _not?_

I jolt up, scrambling across my bed to find my phone and searching through the few contacts I transferred over before leaving arkham. I don't hesitates when I find the one I'm looking for, I'd chicken out if I did, so I hit call and I put the phone to my ear as fast as I can. The ringer sets off my nerves and I find myself digging my nails into my thigh. I'm going through with this, I _have_ to. She probably won't even pick up, she's pathologically private-

"- _Hello?_ "

 _Oh shit._ I gasp into the receiver and it takes a second to find my voice, but I take a deep breath anyways and I push out the words.

"Hey kitty."

"Harley?" Selina's voice is sharp under the surprise and even if theres a hint of relief in her voice, its been overshadowed by the rage. _Maybe I didn't think this through-_

"Heh, yup!" Oh god this is so awkward, why is this so awkward? I need to say something before this gets worse. "Or at least I was last time I checked." Well that doesn't exactly make it better.

"Jesus fucking _christ_." She's spitting the words out, I can practically see the snarl on her face. " I thought you were dead, Harley, I _-"_ She cuts out abruptly with a grunt, and there's a scuffle on the other end of the line before I hear her grit out a muffled ' _fine'_.

" _Harleen?_ " The new voice on on the line is breathless, desperate, and I recognize it immediately- no _way_ , this cannot be happening-

" _Ash_?" My voice cracks with dismay and my veins fill with ice. How the hell does she know Selina? This isn't possible, I tried _so_ hard to keep her out of this, I just wanted her to be safe!

"What the fuck _."_ Oh god she's really angry- " _What the fuck,_ Harley?!" What am I supposed to say? _I'm sorry_ really doesn't seem like enough right now.

"Surprise?" _Good one Harls, she'll love that._

"Surprise." She repeats in a terrifying monotone. "Surprise _?_ Are you _kidding_? I thought you were _DEAD!_ Do you know how scared I've been?" Her voice cracks on this and and _oh god_ , I think she's crying- "You're my _best_ _friend_. My best friend! Why didn't you-" She cuts out with a sob. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Ash-" I don't know how to fix this but I have to say _something-_

"Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me?" She sounds raw and I feel cold all over.

" _Ash_ , I'm sorry, _please-_ " _S_ o _stupid_.

" _No_. That's not enough, you're my sister and you just _disappeared!"_

"I _know_ , I messed up really bad, I _know_ , but I was just trying to protect you!"

"Oh my god, thats so cheap-"

"I'm not lying Ash, I'm _sorry_ but I really was trying to keep you safe! I'm into some kinda risky stuff, but I'm _ok_ and-"

" _Kinda risky-_ " She laughs, dry and acetic. "You broke the fucking _Joker_ out of jail!"

"I _had_ to-" I'm starting to cry now and it weakens my voice.

"No! you didn't!"

"I'm in _love_ with him Ash! Like real, _actual_ love. I couldn't leave him in there, you don't know what they were _doing_ to him- "

"Oh my god Harley, he's a psychopath. He's a mass murderer!"

"I know, but I get him, and-"

"So what, you ran away to follow him around like a fucking groupie?"

" _No,_ It's not like that! I live with him, he _wants_ me here!" There's a silence on the other end of the line, and it burns into my auditory cortex. I can hardly breath.

"... _Are you_ _safe?_ " The fear in her voice is almost enough to break me, and I curl in on myself, hugging my knees. Am I safe? Absolutely not. But that's a _choice,_ good things are never risk free.

" _Yes,_ Ash, I'm fine. I'm actually _really_ good! And I miss you-"

" _Stop it_."

"Stop _what_?"

"You don't get to do that, you don't get to just wipe it away like you didn't _delete_ me from your life." Her words hit like bullets and I try to protest but the line clicks dead, cutting my voice out with it.

 _Fuck._

The guilt is agonizing.

I _love_ Ash, I grew up with her and she's right, she might as well be my sister. I never wanted to hurt her, that's why I stopped talking to her in the first place! Associating with me isn't safe now that I'm with J, but you can't ask a scorpion not to sting, you have to _love_ him, stinger and all. I press my the heels of my palms into my eyelids and stars burst across my eyes. I did what I had to do, and it's in the past, so now I just have to move on _. That's all._ Sure, I was hoping to move on with Selina in my gal-pal roster, but apparently that's not happening so I just have to suck it up and get my shit together. I gotta put food on the table, don't I? I need to make some money! I just need to figure out _how._

I mean I'm obviously not getting a job and I sure as hell ain't gonna ask Puddin' for the cash- for one, he doesn't like being asked for things and for two I gotta prove I'm an independent woman, don't I? I quit my job to be with him and so far all I do is clean and makes his food- which he definitely needs and it was all my idea, but I think it's time to branch out. The only thing he's _really_ asked me to do is take care of my shit, and that means I need to figure this out on my own. It makes sense! He doesn't need some idiot whining at him every few minutes, he needs a _lovely_ _assistant_ ; after all, he's a performer at heart. So how do you make money out of thin air?

You steal it.

I don't have the knowledge or resources to rob a bank or snatch anything big, and holding up a store seems too public, but I think I could really get into a good old-fashioned mugging. I can't just go out there blind and grab someone off the street though, and without size on my side I'll have to rely on something else- cleavage, in case you were wondering. It's amazing what you can get done with two sacs of fat and a push-up bra, isnt it? This baby hasn't seen the light of day in at least a year- mostly cause it's uncomfortable as heck, but it also makes me look like a victoria's secret model in chest so I think it's well worth the sacrifice for tonight.

I pull out a couple of dresses but I put my wig on before I try anything on- I need to get into _character_.

I've chosen a sleek black bob because I think I'm posh tonight, and it makes my eyes look extra blue so that's always a benefit. I swipe on crisp wings of eyeliner with a bit of mascara, and then I pull on the first dress. It's a black satin number that clings to my hips and thighs like liquid. It's long enough for the hem to brush my calves but there's a slit on one side that goes up dangerously high, and the effect is subtly scandalous. It's definitely hot and it looks expensive but… maybe black just isn't right. The next one I try is rich raspberry velvet with angular cut-outs at the waist and it make my booty look miraculous, but the neckline is too high to show off my cleavage and I already decided that's gonna be my _thing_ tonight. The third dress is _just right_ , I don't even have to see it, I know the second I pull it on.

It's a beaded mini-dress with spaghetti straps and a low back; this one doesn't cling quite so much, but the girls are definitely on display. Best of all it's my _color,_ It's a beautiful, passionate, red. Red has always been my armor after all, and I think I might actually need it tonight. I mean _yeah_ I'm excited but I'm also nervous as hell, this is my first mugging ok? And not only is it my first, it just happens to be a high-class, seduce-and-rob type mugging.

Which… Well, I don't know, but it just seems harder than a regular mugging, y'know?

On that note, I need to get armed! I grab an MP9, checking the clip before throwing it into my purse along with some extra ammo. I hesitate with my revolver in hand but I settle on my knife holster, which I strap around my upper thigh underneath my dress. If I'm being honest the knives make me feel sexier than the push-up bra does, but either way I'm ready.

At first the idea of choosing a hunting ground is daunting and I don't know where to start, but then I remember that I've actually been to a few of Gotham's swankier bars thanks to Ash. I'm not going to pretend that the thought of her doesn't make my heart squeeze painfully, but I don't see any reason to dwell on that. _Suck it up and move on_ , information is information! At least now I know where to start.

Obscura is dark and overly posh just like I remembered, but its clientele are flush with cash to spend on over-priced cocktails so I'm not going to complain about the decor. I get in ahead of the line because I make eyes at the bouncer, starting my hunt the moment I step through the front doors. There are a few prospects but I want to look like I belong here, so I head to the bar and flirt with the cute bartender until she makes me a free cosmo, then I slink off to find a good vantage point. I pick a seat at the end of the bar, arranging myself into a coy little perch and taking a sip as I scan the room a second time, settling in for the long game. A few men come up and try to wheel me over the course of the next hour, but one of them smells _horrible_ and the other two just weren't the kind of expensive I'm looking for. I sigh, leaning my elbows against the bar and toying with the speared cherry in my empty glass.

"Can I buy you a drink?" I startle but I keep it hidden, turning to asses the man who just sat down next to me. He's got greying hair, probably in his mid to late forties given the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. His grey suit is plain but clearly expensive and the Rolex on his wrist is limited edition- all good signs, but better safe than sorry, right?

"Depends…" I pop the cherry from my cosmo into my mouth and his pupils dilate. "Can you afford it?" At this, a smarmy grin slides over his face. I have to keep from rolling my eyes as he turns toward me, bracing one arm against the bar to crowd my field of view. I don't like that move, but his suit jacket just fell open and I can see a wad of bills sticking out of the inside pocket so I think I'm gonna stick around.

"Affording things is my _forte_."

"Well then, _by all means_." I force a slow smile, keeping my eyes on him as he slips a large bill out of his pocket, folds it, and waves it in the air. The bartender dashes over in record time but my new pot of gold doesn't even look up at the kid, he just sticks his sleazy gaze on me and cocks a bushy eyebrow.

"What'll it be, honey?" _Ew_.

"I'll have whatever _you're_ havin, handsome." He chuckles at this, finally acknowledging the bartender and ordering something called Dalmore 62, one on the rocks for me- the assumption that I can't handle it pisses me off, but when it comes to scotch I probably can't. What can I say? I'm more of a flavored-vodka kinda girl. When I actually taste the stuff it's just as disgusting as I expect it to be, but I hide my distaste with a smile, running my tongue across my lower lip. He follows the motion, taking a long drink and swallowing slow as his eyes drop to my artificially ample chest.

"So tell me, how did a girl like you end up all alone on a night like this?" I swallow a peel of sarcastic laughter at the cheesy line, coyly sliding my eyes over to him instead.

"I think you're proof that a girl like _me_ is never alone for long. Don't you?"

"I guess so-" He laughs and it's horribly throaty. "Carter Port." He offers a hand, which at the very least is _clean-_ he's clean all over actually, it's just his personality that's grimy. I take it, giving a delicate shake that seems to stroke his ego.

"Lola." I return, intentionally leaving out my fake last name- it's good to be a little mysterious.

" _Lo_ -la…" He sighs. "I have to say your name doesn't do you justice." Is this guy _negging_ me?

"Oh _really-_ " I push out a little giggle, shifting in my seat to lean closer. "What do you think it should be?"

" _I_ think…" He rubs his chin, mulling it over. "You look like a Valentina."

"Mmm, _well-_ " I put a hand on his arm and he pushes his chest out like some sort of overgrown peacock. "I think I could be Valentina for just _one_ night." The grin that spreads over his face is absolutely lecherous but I know I've got him.

"I hope I'm not being too forward, but-" He glances around like he's nervous about something, _I can't imagine what_. "I'd really like to take you home and… is there someone I should _talk_ to? Do you have uh- a _boss_?" What the hell is he talking about? _Oh._ Wait- he thinks I'm an escort, that's perfect!

"Just me sugar," I smile and laugh like I think he's cute. "No need to involve _any_ body else unless things get outta hand-" I take his tie between two fingers and he seems to relax.

"How mu-" I put a hand on his knee, cutting him off before he can get me arrested for prostitution.

"I think-" I lean to whisper in his ear, nearly choking on his cologne. "We can talk about that outside, don't you?"

"Of course." He says, and the self admonishment is almost endearing. "Shall we?" he stands, buttoning his suit jacket and finishing his drink.

"We _shall_." I try on a purr and it suits me, so my grin is genuine as I step off the bar stool. He wraps an arm around my waist and he's _definitely_ rushing. I'm halfway through an eye roll as we step out of the bar when I see _Him_. He's tall and thin, wearing a long dark coat and a wide brimmed hat that hides his face. He leans causally against a building on the other side of the street, and of course he's completely unmistakable. He followed me.

 _Holy shit._

I feel a rush of joy for about two seconds, at least I do until I realize how it looks to be leaving a bar under some old guy's arm. I make a split decision as we turn onto the sidewalk, swishing my coat out of the way and hitching the side of my dress up to flash the knives strapped to my thighs. I don't want to draw attention so I only allow myself a quick glance back, and I still can't see his face but he's started walking in the same direction as us. That's _exciting_. So exciting that I almost forget about Carter, who's hand is slipping greedily down my back. I _really_ want to slap it away but I got a good cover goin' with the escort thing and I don't wanna blow it- I ain't gonna blow _anything_ tonight. Except, I mean, _obviously_ if Puddin'- _ok Harls, not a helpful thought_.

"So-" Carter clears his throat and I bring my gaze back to him. "Uh-" _Oh right, the money._

"Y'know I like you, so I'm gonna cut you a deal," I bite my lip, pretending to consider him. "Ten-thou for the night." You'd better believe I'd be worth the money if I was actually selling anything.

"I'm _honoured_ -" He laughs. "I do actually have about half on me but I'll have to stop at a machine to get you the rest, do you mind? I carry too much cash when I'm in Gotham." _Right-_ because five thousand dollars is basically pocket change _._

"Course not-" I tuck myself a little bit closer to his side. "Make it fast ok?" I put on my most devilish grin. "This dress is just _horribly_ uncomfortable, I can't wait to take it off." He breaths a bit harder at that and again I have to hold back an eye roll- this is almost too easy. There's an atm just down the street so we stop there, and as much as I want to look for J I keep my eyes on Carter's fingers. Ten thousand is nice, but if I have his _pin_ … you get the idea. I'm not sure if he's an idiot or just a bit drunk, but he doesn't try to shield the keypad when he punches it in: one-nine-three-seven.

 _Yahtzee!_

I don't even have it in my hands yet but I already feel rich _,_ and fuck if rich isn't a _sexy_ feeling. That feeling doubles when he turns around and I see the wad of cash, but it quadruples when he passes it over and I can actually feel the weight of it in my palm. _God_ this thing is thick- _heh_.

"Much appreciated." I tuck the wad into the inside pocket of my coat and press a kiss to Carter's cheek as he calls his driver. The idea of getting into a vehicle actually makes me a bit nervous. I haven't seen J since we left the bar but even if he's hiding right around the corner it would be hard to follow us once we're in a car. It isn't that I can't do this on my own, I've already made it past the hard part and all I have to do now is kill him once we get somewhere private- but why _wouldn't_ I want J to join in for the fun part?

I'm a bit spaced out when the Porsche pulls up but I snap back into character and get in, smiling and giggling intermittently as Carter brags about business stuff all the way to his swanky condo. It's one of those ultra modern places, all white, smooth and shiny. It's too hospitalish but I don't have much time to think about that because there are footsteps behind us in the lobby- It's _gotta_ be him, right? There's obviously no way I can _actually_ recognize him by his footsteps, but I sure _fee_ l like I can and my heart is hammering because of it. Carter ushers me into the elevator and hits the penthouse button while I try to get a discreet peek as the doors start to close, but then they stop. I look down and that's _his_ shoe, then the doors start opening again and _that's_ the rest of him!

"Sorry for the hold up, folks-" He chuckles, stepping in and leaning against the wall as the doors close again. I want to rush over and hug him until he can't breath, but he's keeping his hat tipped low to hide his face so he doesn't want to be identified yet and I don't wanna mess it up.

"So!" He claps his hands and Carter tenses. "Who's your friend, Harls?"

"What-" Carter- the _wimp,_ steps nervously away from me. "-are you her _pimp_?"

"Only on sundays!" Laughs J. Then he whips off his hat.

Carter goes white and it's incredibly satisfying to _really_ see fear on his face as he backs into the corner, but then J winks at me and I'm magnetized. I'm at his side before I realize I've moved and unbelievably, _impossibly_ , he drapes his arm over my shoulders. _Just like that_.

 _This is amazing_ , he _never_ touches me like this!

"Today however, is a friday _."_ J's fingers dig briefly into my shoulder and I nearly melt before he drops his arm, moving forward to plant his hands on the wall, boxing Carter into his corner. "But like you said, you already paid! So we're gonna treat you _real_ _nice_ , aren't we Harl?"

"The _nicest."_

The elevator dings and J grips Carter by the shoulders, peeling him out of the corner and shoving him into the hallway with a slap on the ass. He follows close behind and I'm at his heels as he puts a hand on the back of Carter's neck, guiding him not-so-gently over to the only door on this floor. He's obviously waiting for the idiot to get his keys out and open it, but Carter just cowers there with his head tucked down and Puddin, _god bless him_ \- is rapidly losing patience. I have to do _something_ , so I slip the revolver out of my purse and jab it up under Carter's chin, stepping in close.

"Oh _come on_ sweetie, you don't gotta be nervous! Mistah J said we're gonna be nice didn't he?"

" _Sure_ _did_ , cupcake." The laugh-warmed words fill me up and my fake-sweet smile turns into a real one.

"But _you_ don't seem too keen to let us in." I give Carter another jab before turning back to J. "That just don't seem right, Puddin." I slip the nickname in because I'm feeling lucky, and he _doesn't even_ _notice._

"It _is_ awfully disrespectful, isn't it?" J keeps his voice soft as he leans in to peer at Carter's face from the other side, and that worm of a man squeezes his eyes shut. "I think you might want to get your _keys_ out _,_ and open the goddamn _door."_ He doesn't raise his voice at all but there's a darkness to it that sends goosebumps down my arms. Apparently it hit Carter too- he's fumbling frantically for his keys and shoving them into the lock with record speed. When it clicks, J slides in front of him and throws open the door, dragging our captive into the penthouse.

"Har _ley_ , lights!" I rush to follow them inside, closing and locking the door behind us before fumbling for the switch. Instead of one though, I find a whole _row_ so I flick them all on at once, bathing us in temporarily blinding light. When the spots clear from my eyes I find J in the middle of the room, taking it all in with a big grin.

It really is something to see, this place is _definitely_ ritzy- the only problem is that I don't think J is paying attention to Carter, who has started to crawl across the room. There's no way he'll actually escape, but he might be going for a gun or an alarm button or something, so I aim at the floor just in front of his hands and I shoot. Carter yelps, scuttling back as the bullet hits, and I giggle but it's cut off when a sharp tug jerks my head back. It takes me a second to realize that J just ripped my wig off, taking a number of bobby pins and hairs with it. Which is a _weird_ thing to do- _unless_ he doesn't like the wig. But that has to mean he likes my normal hair better!

"Cool your engine, _Harl."_ Snaps J, tossing my wig over his shoulder. "What kind of service would we be providing if we skipped straight to the main event without any foreplay?" There was an actual admonishment in there, but it's lost to me- I just want to hear him say foreplay again. And again, and again-

He turns to Carter with an apologetic expression, pressing a hand to his chest.

" _Do_ forgive my assistant-" He pleads, grabbing the man by the arm and hauling him up to his feet to make a show of dusting him off. "Poor girl's got an intractable case of necrophilia-" He sighs and I itch with embarrassment. I'm truly fucking tired of that particular joke. "- it's _tragic_ really, she's horribly excitable. But what can you do?" He laughs, throwing his hands up. Meanwhile Carter flinches almost every time he moves- I think he might pee himself soon.

" _Ooooh-_ " He jerks the man to the side and peers over his shoulder at the biggest liquor cabinet I've ever seen. "There's the ticket!" He shoves Carter back toward me, so I end up catching the him from behind while J skips over to the cabinet. He throws it open and makes a show of perusing the selection for about five seconds before he picks a bottle of something that looks potent and whirls back around.

"All you need-" He strides toward us and grabs Carter by the shirt. " _Harley, hold his mouth open,_ " I hurry to reach around, getting one hand on the man's jaw while the other one ends up awkwardly inside his mouth with my fingers hooking under his teeth. Well it _works-_

" _All you need,_ is a tonic for the nerves." J unscrews the cap with quick fingers, his eyes flicking over to mine for a startling second before they're gone and he's tipping the bottle over Carter's mouth. Clear, acrid liquid pours out in a flood, splashing over my fingers until Carter starts sputtering and coughing. I don't think Puddin' wants him to die quite yet, so I let go and J pulls him into an effortless headlock. He's not putting any pressure on Carter's throat, he's just holding his mouth shut to make him swallow, patting his greying hair with theatrical benevolence.

" _There_ , shhhh…" He coos as tears begin to run down Carter's cheeks. "You're _already_ feeling better, I can tell." He nods assertively then ruins the effect with a half-muffled giggle as Carter starts to struggle again, more desperately this time. _That_ gives me an idea.

"Hey Mistah J?" My voice sounds more timid than I want it to but I'm _nervous_ , this is a big opportunity for me, this is _showtime!_

" _Yes,_ Harleykins?" There's a tinge of annoyance under his play-tone and it almost makes me hesitate as I dig into my purse for the duct tape. _Almost._

"Does uh… Does bondage count as foreplay?" His gaze darts up- he wasn't expecting me to say _that._ I spin the roll around my index finger and his tongue swipes once along his lower lip before he shoves his brows down to narrow his eyes.

"...Well it's not exactly a batarang to the face, but I _suppose_ it will do." I'm wearing a smile that hurts my cheeks when he snatches the tape but then he just _lets_ _go_ of the guy.

I jump forward to grab him and I'm doing my best to keep him still, but he's a lot bigger than me. There's not much I can do without throwing him to the ground or _stabbing_ him, so I'm relieved when J wrangles his arms behind his back and starts taping them together.

"You're _real_ good at that, boss." The flirtation slips out all breathless and my face starts to burn because now I'm thinking about him with duct tape and _me_. Of course he only snorts in response, but I don't let that faze me- _it_ could happen tonight, I mean who knows where this will lead! I definitely got goodies last time I killed someone, and if that's what it takes I'll kill the whole goddamn world.

"So how's about a tour before we get to the _really_ good stuff, hmm?" I snap out of my inner monologue to see J rip a shorter strip of tape, and I give an emphatic yes- except he's not asking _me_. " _Build a little_ _tension-_ " He presses the tape over Carter's mouth and pats him on the cheek. "I hear you loud and _clear_ , my good man- a tour it is!" he hooks an arm around Carters neck and starts marching him down the hall.

I want to be a _part_ of this though, I want to share every second of this so I march right up next to them and I slide my arm around Carter's waist. My finger's brush the fabric of J's coat as we walk and my breath hitches- the accidental touch is oddly stimulating even though he doesn't seem to notice it, and I feel hot all over.

"I've already seen the living room and I don't give a shit about the kitchen- what else do you have hiding away in here, hmm?" We reach the first door of four in this hall and J kicks it open. There's a loud crack as the wood splinters, and _shit_ that must have been a hard kick! The door swings open and J pops his head in- I can't see past him and Carter, but he pops back out in seconds with an annoyed twist to his mouth so it can't have been anything special.

" _Really_?" He asks Carter, grabbing him by the hair to shove us on. "A _home gym?"_ He makes a disgusted noise and Carter almost looks embarrassed.

The next door is on my side so I go for it- I'm not going to try the kick thing, there's no way I can pull that off so I just go for the handle. This one is unlocked and I throw it open with an explosive sense of anticipation only to have it sputter out when I lay my eyes on the drab, if expensive looking office inside.

" _Honestly_ , some people have no idea how to spend money." sighs J, giving Carter a sharp jab in the side- I giggle and do the same from the other side.

The last two doors are similarly boring- an oversized bathroom and a fairly luxurious bedroom that's too impersonal to be anything other than a guest room. There isn't even anything in the bedside tables, but Puddin does rip open the pillows to make feather confetti so that's exciting. That's pretty much the only interesting thing here though, so it doesn't take us long to move on to the second floor. When we hit the summit of the wide spiral staircase at the end of the hall, we find ourselves in a circular area lined with doors, J skipping ahead like he's on the yellow brick road and me bringing up the rear with Carter at gunpoint. J starts kicking open doors again, revealing in sequence, a sitting room, a library, another bedroom, and second to last, a small gallery.

"Oooh, a patron of the _arts_." drawls J, swanning into the room like a ballroom dancer. "Although you don't have any of my work in your collection-" He sighs, scanning Carter's trove of rather unexciting relics and paintings. "Not to worry!" He whirls around to throw Carter a wink before skipping over to a Picasso with a purple sharpie in hand. "I do remixes."

Carter makes an agonized grunt when marker touches canvas and I giggle, shoving him to the ground so I can look around without him immediately running away. He's got a couple paintings, some old-looking plates, a selection of statues, and a _whole lotta vases._ Like, way more vases I've ever seen in someones house, so many that I'm trying to figure out how vases could fit into some sort of fetish- or maybe the vases _are_ the fetish... Carter's gotten up to his knees so I kick him down again.

"...Hey Mistah J?"

"Mmm?" He's not really paying attention to me, he's _remixing_ a Monet now.

"Y'know how in video games, you always gotta smash all the vases to get like, money and stuff hidden inside?" All I get is a grunt in response. Definitely not paying attention, then."You think maybe we should smash all these vases? Y'know, just in case there's stuff inside."

" _Oh,_ I'm just _desperate_ for stuff," He actually turns around at this, tucking the sharpie behind his ear. "How ever did you know?" He reaches out to snatch a vase off the shelf, a wild grin exploding onto his face as he spikes it at the ground.

Ecstatic laughter rips out of me as I rush to grab a vase and join in, volleying something ancient-looking across the room, and then it's _on_. We tear through Carter's little gallery like cyclones, hurling anything that isn't nailed down as we dance across our china carpet, making it crunch underfoot to the melodics of shattering ceramics. This is _just_ like our first date back when I was still at Arkham, smashing some rich ladies dishware while she bled out in the living room. Except this is better, _way better._ Back then he was hunting me- _I_ might have been playing that day but he had an agenda. I thought I really knew him but I was an idiot and we were both playing roles, even if I _really_ believed mine. Now though, _tonight_ , I made a snap decision to go out and _he came after me._ He wanted to know what I was up to and now he's up to it with me! Tonight is the natural product of our collision, tonight is _perfect._

Or at least it is until I spot Carter racing for the door.

"We got a runner, Mistah J!" I'm already heading after him when J slips past me through the doorway and whips a small statue at Carter's head.

Carter- who has made it across the foyer, is now rubbing his bound hands awkwardly against the handle, barely managing to duck as the statuette crashes into the wall above his head. He yelps as a hefty chunk of ceramic smacks him in the back, stumbling sideways and tripping over his feet.

" _Aww_ , look at him struggle, Harl!" J claps. "Aren't they _cute_ when they can't use their hands?" He coos, striding forward to pick Carter up and pull him back to the door. "Let me get that for you-" Carter flinches as J bursts into a torrent of unprompted laughter, turning the knob with two fingers and allowing the door to swing open.

" _Well, well-"_ he purrs, stepping through. I can't see past him yet but with a reaction like that it's gotta be good. "Why were you so desperate to get to the _bedroom_ , hmm?" He chuckles, switching his grip to close his fist around a clump of Carter's hair. "Is this where the _magic_ happens?"

I slip into the room behind them, taking a good ogle as I go. This is by far the gaudiest part of this condo, the walls are a matte black and everything else is gold- like _actual gold metal_. The bed looks like a double king and there's a _mirror_ over it, which is just… Jesus _christ_ , Carter.

"Now you wait here while I slip into something more _comfortable_." I switch my gaze back to J, who is pushing Carter onto the bed, snickering as he walks backward to a large set of double doors on the other side of the room. He slides into a little moonwalk before he disappears and I giggle, sighing dreamily as I drift over to plop down on the bed beside Carter.

"Ain't he a catch?" Carter doesn't respond, and I'm about to be mad about it until I actually look at him. He's got his body angled toward mine, his legs tensed like he's about to jump and he's _staring_ at me. He's sizing me up! J steps out for a goddamn minute and this guy thinks I'm suddenly defenceless?

 _I don't think so._

I shift a bit closer, tossing my gun back and forth between my hands. I keep my smile nice and wide, not letting my gaze waver until his turns unsure and he looks away. _Nice_. I stop my little juggling act, leaving the gun in my right hand and using it to tuck a bit of hair behind my ear- which seems to make Carter almost laughably uncomfortable- before resting it on my lap.

"Y'know our first date was kinda like this." It doesn't take much to amp up the whole love-struck psycho act, and the whites of Carter's eyes bloom as I make a sweeping gesture with my gun-hand. "Real romantic stuff, y'know? My first time too, and she screamed _so_ much." Carter's brows pull together in confusion so it's time to drop the bomb. "Did you know Sophie Sinclair?" I tip my head innocently to the side as his eyes widen in recognition and burgeoning horror. "I ain't even sure how many people I killed since then!" I giggle, shaking my head and poking him playfully in the chest with the gun. "I guess time flies when you're havin' fun, huh?"

A blood curdling cry of outrage makes us both jump, and I turn startled eyes toward the double doors. Ok, I know Puddin said to stay here, but what if he needs me? I'm already on my feet when I realize I should probably bring Carter, so I grab him by the shirt, jamming the gun against his temple and dragging him along. Inside I find J tearing through the world's biggest walk-in closet and _shit_ , this guy's got a lot of clothes! Mostly suits and stuff but there's a selection of dresses and stuff too- although the shoes are a lot smaller than the ones Carter's wearing, so that stuff probably belongs to a wife or girlfriend- bo _-ring._ More men should wear leather skirts.

There's a growing pile of designer clothing in the middle of the floor and J mutters rhythmically as he tears through the mostly monochrome clothing with a rising mania. He doesn't seem to have noticed us and I'm starting to wonder if we should back out when he spins around, brandishing a plain blue suit and I freeze on the spot.

"This is Gucci and it's _navy_. _blue_." He's addressing Carter, speaking slowly like he thinks he might have trouble hearing. "I- I just don't-" A set of fidgeting fingers fly up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "At least when _I_ burn money I have the nerve to actually set it on _fire_." He gives the suit a good shake, his eyes going wide in his frustration. He honestly looks sort of... _hurt_.

"Oh puddin, that poor suit!" Is this ridiculous? Yes. But it's also adorable.

"Did you see the _lining_? Such terrible life choices... " He sniffs, covering his eyes as he tosses the suit over his shoulder. "But you can't blame a child for the parent's mistakes, can you? You've got to blame the _parent_." He turns slowly to face Carter as he says this, his face splitting into a blindingly toothy grin. "On that note let's have some _fun_ , shall we?"

"Oooh we love fun," I giggle, flushing because I can't help it when he says things like that- "Don't we Carter?" Carter only makes a sad little gurgle through his gag so I jab him with my gun and he starts nodding his head real quick.

"Well you're in luck!" Giggles J. "Lotta bang for your buck, _buddy boy-_ I'm not sure what you _thought_ you bought from my little Harley, but I'd bet my bat it involved some form of penetration," There's a sharp clack and J's favourite switchblade appears, pressed delicately against Carter's quivering adam's apple. "So I thought we'd keep that on the menu." His voice has dropped into a treacherous purr and my grip on Carter's arm becomes a vice. "But your dreary little tour was hardly the titillating appetizer I'd hoped for. I don't know, maybe it's just _me_ \- are you feeling _titillated_ Harley?" Well I mean _yes_ , but-

" _Nuh-uh,_ Mistah J,"

"It's decided then! Titillation now," He starts sawing into the duct tape that binds Carter's arms. "-penetration _later_." He giggles, giving Carter a little jab with the tip of his switchblade. Carter cringes away from him but remains otherwise obediently glued to the spot, even as J leans forward again.

" _Run_." This velvetine whisper is jeering and hypnotic all at once so I don't blame our captive for being a bit slow on the start. When he finally clues in he whirls, scrambling madly for the exit. I pull my gun on instinct, aiming low to avoid central mass.

"NO _guns!"_ J's voice hits me like an airhorn. I jump, nearly pulling the trigger on accident before he knocks the piece out of my hands and leaves me in the dust. Carter is almost at the door now but J is close and getting closer.

Well I can't let him _win_ , can I?

I snag a knife from my thigh holster and whip it forward, sending it end over end until it sinks into the door between Carters fingers. It's mostly luck on my part but I still feel proud when he jumps back. J pulls my knife swiftly from the door, throwing it back-hand with enough precision to have it only just _graze_ Carter's face. I would take a moment to fawn over that, but I'm already moving, snatching a rumpled suit jacket off the floor and throwing it in J's face before locking an arm around Carter's neck and yanking him back. I'm trying to get him on the ground but he's really started to struggle, so I step down on his foot and he weakens enough for me to regain the advantage. I can get him in a chokehold if I _just-_

" _Ha!"_ The sound is aggressively ecstatic, an explosion on my auditory cortex before the world goes dark and something hits me in the side, knocking me to the floor.

It takes me a second to realize that J's given me a taste of my own medicine with the jacket, but I throw it off and get to my feet against the radiating ache in my ribs. J has Carter on the ground but he's clearly not giving it his all- he could overpower the man at any moment but he's choosing to draw this out, he's _playing_. So I grab a lamp off a nearby bookstand and I swing it like a baseball bat to bring it down on my Puddin's back. He makes a startled little grunt and turns on me with a feral grin- I was planning on trying to knock him away from Carter but he gets a grip on my ankle before I can start, yanking me down. I land on my butt with a squeak and J laughs, keeping his eyes on me as he reaches out and stabs the escaping Carter in the calf. Carter _screams._

"Looks like we got a happy customer, Boss!" J chuckles, twisting the knife to earn another wail.

" _Mmm,_ I can-" Carter kicks wildly at J with his uninjured leg but J just swats it away."-already see the Yelp reviews-" Carter rears up again, this time with my discarded knife in his grip. He's going for the chest and he's fast in his panic, but J blocks the attack easily and my knife clatters back to the ground as Carter resorts to a barrage of punches and slaps. J mostly ignores the attack until he gets my knife back, pinching the blade by two fingers and turning to hold it out to Carter.

"Go on, _take_ _it_ ," J is purring again, wiggling my knife handle-first in our captive's face. Carter looks highly skeptical, understandably so. He seems to be swallowing convulsively and he's sweating but he still reaches out for the knife, snatching it away the moment it's safe in his hand. Then he freezes, eyes darting furtively back and forth between J and I.

"I… don't think he tops." J's head tips to the side, his tone deadpan and disappointed even as a smirk graces his lips. Oh my _god._ I make an ugly snort as surprised laughter bursts out of me and J chuckles. Carter seems to take this reaction as a threat and raises the knife to point it at us, which is _really_ just an idiotic thing to do, I mean come on, it's not a gun.

" _That's right_ ," J grins, leaning toward the knife. "-get it up so we can _play_." Apparently that's enough to tip Carter off because he slashes forward with the knife. J dodges the first swipe, and the second, and the third- he's not fighting back at all now, he's just going to kill Carter with frustration. They seem to have momentarily forgotten me so I stick my foot out when Carter passes a bit too close, and he goes _flying_. He half-tackles J and they both go down, the knife hitting the ground in their scuffle. Carter is fighting valiantly but J isn't playing any more, his eyes going dark and hot as he pulls Carter's arms into a lock over his head to trap him belly up. Carter keeps thrashing as I drop to my knees next to them but it's futile, J is laughing and it's over, he's gonna go for the kill- only then he's slipping the knife into _my_ hand.

 _Choosing_ _me_.

I'm on fire as I straddle them, digging my knees into Carter's sides as he tries to buck me off. I go a bit weak when I catch J's gaze though, he's feverish and electric in his anticipation, childishly hedonistic, lascivious and savage all at once. It spears through me like lighting and we're barely touching but this is _real_ , this is _intimate._ I'm bare in the heat of my exhilaration and he's a beast of instinct and endorphins, we're a closed circuit right now, symbiotic and feeding off each other, off this moment, we're _drunk_ on it-

" _Now._ " He sounds like sex and my world goes hot and hazy, overexposed and vibrantly coloured as I raise the blade above my head, exploding when I bring it down. My steel finds home in Carters stomach and the noise he makes is deep and deafeningly primal. The heat of him is slick on my palm and J's fingers slide through it like paint, wrapping around my wrist to pull up and plunge back down, sinking into Carter's chest this time.

" _More,"_ Growls J, releasing my wrist to dig his fingers into my thigh. " _Harder_." He laughs and I let loose.

I turn into a machine with one purpose, up and down, in and out, _harder_ , _faster_ , _more, better,_ my knife, my hand, his fingers, our prey, and blood, _so much blood_ splashing, sliding and dripping, soaking my dress and running down his face. I feel like I'm riding a bike down the side of a cliff, like I'm jumping out of a fucking plane and it's the biggest feeling in the world, so big that it barely abates when Carter stops moving and the bleeding turns to a trickle. I keep stabbing for a while but my body feels like jelly and I weaken progressively until the knife slips from my hand as I try to pull it out. I'm shaking, giggling uncontrollably now as I lean sideways and push Carter off to resettle myself on J's hips.

And fuck...

If he sounded like sex before he _looks_ like it now. His pale cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright and his hair curled wildly out of its former coif. It makes him look soft even as he presses sharp teeth into his lower lip, and a swarm of butterflies explodes in my stomach.

"Quite the performance." All that softness twists into a mocking smirk and one of his eyebrows pops up to set my face on fire.

"Ain't gotta perform for _you_ , Mistah J." My voice is embarrassingly husky and my fingers curl reflexively into the blood soaked silk of his shirt. He laughs low and the vibrations run up my arms into my chest, thrumming against my ribs. At this point I'm _aching_ for him.

 _I killed a guy, now where's my treat?_

"An' I _won_ , by the way." I add this before I can chicken out because I _need_ this, I need something- he grabs me by the hips and lifts me off, flipping me over to pin me down.

"Have you _really_?" He's grinning, his red lips dripping sarcasm as his nails dig into my wrists.

"Uh-huh, cause _I_ killed Carter." The cocky tone pours out as easily as my smile because I think this might actually be working, this is going to happen!

"Oh of course, _I_ was just trapped helplessly beneath him-" He cuts off abruptly, his eyes flicking to the side before a slow and excessively malicious grin slides over his face. "Mmm, _bacon_."

"...What?" I falter, struggling to keep up with the conversational U-turn to breakfast food. His eyes switch back to mine and he leans in close, our noses brushing and his hair sweeping down to tickle my forehead.

" _Last one home gets a murder charge_." I don't have time to decode that message before he's nipping the tip of my nose and jumping to his feet. I hasten to pick myself up but he's already on the balcony by the time I get my legs under me- he's on the balcony and he's jumping over the fucking _edge_. I race out after him with my breath caught in my throat only to find him scaling down the rails like they're rungs on a giant ladder. Then I hear the sirens and I realize what he really meant by _bacon_.

 _Well shit, last one home really_ does _get a murder charge_


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello darlings!** This chapter contains some references back to Jailbait, so if you haven't read that spoilers I guess? This chapter also contains… honestly I never know how to list proper warnings. Glass in feet? Mixing wine with grape soda? Whatever. I hope you enjoy it!

Side note, I posted my Joker playlist on spotify, its called "stabulous the fabulous" and my username there is the same as it is here. I also wrote out the tracklist in notes at the bottom of this chapter, just in case people don't have spotify or can't find it. It's meant as a shallow sample of his record collection- stuff I think he would listen to, pull heists to, sing in the shower, ect- please for the love of Batsy imagine his dance moves.

So yeah, all my love to you guys and so many thanks for the support and the reviews!

 **Chapter 7: Boundaries- what boundaries?**

Holy shit.

 _Holy shit, holy shit-_

J is just a tiny ant on the ground twenty stories below, disappearing into an alley, and _fuck_ _those sirens just keep getting closer_. At this point I don't have time to scale down the side of the building since my limbs aren't ten goddamn feet long, but I can definitely get to the top. I drop into a crouch, frantic to unbuckle my stupid heels so I can take them off and buckle them together, slinging them around the back of my neck.

I hesitating on the balcony, trying to decide on a strategy when I hear a loud banging from the floor below, and that's the _cops,_ they're breaking down the door! I force myself up onto the rail at the side of the balcony, wedging my fingers between the bricks that make up the arch over the doorway and starting the climb. There isn't much to work with here but thankfully the roof isn't very much higher up. I can hear them moving through the house, making their way straight for me as I dangle from the edge of the roof, my bare toes scrabbling for purchase. I can't breathe and my arms are screaming by the time I manage to haul my upper body on the roof, tucking my legs out of view just as two cops burst onto the balcony.

I haven't caught my breath and my muscles feel like lead but I can't stop now- I'm only hidden up here as long as they don't call in the helicopters so I just start running. I don't know where I'm going, I don't even know what part of the city I'm in but I don't have time to figure it out, I just have to get away and worry about home later. The unforgiving terrain of gravel rooftops and rusted grates batter at my bare feet and the smog-choked air turns my throat raw as it rips in and out of my lungs, but I keep pushing farther, faster, until I just can't keep going. My knees give out and I hit the ground hard, still gasping for breath. I lost my stupid heels jumping over an alley about ten blocks ago, the splint on my pinky is now holding on by a single strip of medical tape, and I think there might be a piece of glass or something stuck in my big toe, only I can't really feel it because my feet are numb and I'm too tired to bend down and look. _Fuck._ Where am I? Eventually I muster the energy to pat myself down for my phone, switching it on and blinking back sudden light. I feel dazed and cold as I flick over to my maps app to check my location… and I'm in old Gotham.

So like, the opposite side of the city.

I just want to be _home!_ I want to make sure J is ok and then I want to get into my warm bed so I can sleep for about a week- I don't think I've ever felt more tired in my life. Then there's the pain, and that's a whole different story. This isn't the fun, sexy kind of pain I get from Mistah J, this is horrible, nauseating, throbbing-feet-and-blistering-hands agony. The adrenaline rush has left me shivering and weak and I have no idea how I'm supposed to make it across the city like this but it's way too cold to sleep outside, so I have to do _something_. I wish I could just take a dumb taxi!

Actually, maybe I _can._

I mean, I have a wad of cash in my pocket and it's a Friday night so I bet there's a bunch of rough-lookin' blonde girls taking taxis! I probably won't even stick out if I can hide all the blood I'm wearing. Only problem is now I have to figure out how to get down this freakin' building with jelly legs and bleeding feet. I give myself a grace period, using the time to massage my calves and pull the hunk of- yup, glass- out of my foot before I drag myself up. A quick survey of the building reveals a fire escape that isn't very far down and I almost cry in relief until I drop onto the first platform- then I _actually_ start crying a bit from the pain of the impact.

It would be an understatement to say it takes me a while to get to the ground.

Eventually I'm limping out of an alley toward the curb, and yeah, I should probably stop by a free clinic to pick up some antibiotics. Thankfully it's a fairly busy street so I manage to catch a car within minutes, dropping into the backseat and giving the driver an address a block away from the sewer entrance. I slouch against the cracked vinyl seats, letting the exhaustion wash over me and passing out for a bit so the driver has to shake me awake, but I give him a hefty tip so I don't think he minds.

I feel like a zombie shuffling down the sidewalk but I force myself to stop into the corner store anyways, running on fumes. I bribe the clerk into selling me a bunch of plastic bags so I don't have to do the garbage-water walk in bare feet, then I wrap up my footsies nice and good and I set out on the rest of my trek. I've moved past exhaustion and I'm barreling into a sleep-starved mania by the time I make it up into the theater _and I need to make sure he's home safe-_ I rip through the building at record speed but I don't see him _anywhere,_ and I even knock on his office door but he doesn't answer so theres only one more place he could be- I'm shoving through the projection room door in seconds, taking the stairs two at a time. I force myself to a halt at the top, pressing my ear against his door. I can't hear anything so I drop to the floor and peek underneath, only I can't see anything either.

That doesn't necessarily mean he's not _there_ , though... maybe he's just being quiet? I let that possibility sit for exactly two seconds before I decide that this quiet is _too_ quiet, and I absolutely need to get in there so I can figure out whats going on. He might have gotten injured on the way home! He could be bleeding out on the floor in there, what if he passed out? _He could need me-_ I'm halfway down the stairs to grab a bobby pin so I can pick the lock when I realize that I haven't actually tried the doorknob. Still, I'm not expecting the door to swing open when I give it a little twist.

Oh my god. Oh my _GOD._

 _It's unlocked._

I freeze on the threshold. What if he _is_ inside? What if he's just sleeping or something? He'll probably be pretty mad if I barge in, there's no way that can go down well but... no, that's not enough to justify walking away if there's even the slightest chance that he's hurt. I'm pushing into the room before I finish the thought, looking frantically around the cluttered space and barely taking it it in before dashing into the attached bathroom. He's not here.

 _He's not here, he's not here, he's not here-_

What the hell does that mean? He couldn't have been arrested, could he? Oh fuck. _OhFuckityfuck_ , I'm going to have a panic attack. My knees turn to jello and I do a salmon flop onto his bed, rolling onto my back and pressing a hand against my stomach to try and keep myself from hyperventilating. Desperate, I grab a fistful of his blanket and drag it over face to bury myself in his smell, breathing him in and trying to flush out the hysteria. It works, slowly and partially, but it's enough to stop me from losing it. I need to be _rational_. He's a fully grown clown and he's survived injuries that could take down a legion, he's more than capable of dealing with anything even Gotham can throw at him so I need to stop being such a worry wart.

He's probably off on some adventure! Vandalising something or someone, making art… or maybe he's with Batman. Sometimes when they fight they go _missing_ for a while before they turn up at Arkham, what do they _do_? I tug the blanket down from my face only to be confronted by several pictures of the vigilante in question, taped to the roof of J's emerald green canopy bed.

 _Goddamnit_.

I pull the blanket back up, huffing a sigh and rolling over onto my stomach, burying my face in his pillows. Whatever they do it doesn't matter because I'm _here_ , I'm the one that's in his bed and he wants me here. Ok, so maybe I don't know that he specifically wants me in his bed right at this moment, but I know he wants me in his house. If he didn't he would just kill me, so it's easy enough to know where I stand in that regard. And last night? That was special, that was a frickin' _date_.

I startle myself by pouring a stream of giggles into his pillow, nearly inhaling the silk case when I inevitably end up gasping for air. _We went on a date_. Batman can suck it! Even better, he woulda' _done_ something if the pigs hadn't shown up. He _likes_ me. My giggles turn drunken and slow, tumbling out of my mouth as the fatigue catches up with me. I should probably move but his bed is _so_ comfy and I'm having _such_ nice thoughts….

I wake up a few hours later to the buzz of my phone, launching directly out of slumber and into hysteria as I realize where I am. I throw myself out of bed, tripping over my feet and the tangle of blankets around them as I scramble for the door, only slowing when I hit the bottom of the stairs and realize that he isn't anywhere in sight and I'm being silly. Once my hands start shaking and my breath slows down I pull out my phone to check that message, and find myself staring at a text notification from Selina. _Shit_. I actually have to psych myself up to check it, I honestly don't know if I should be scared or excited right now.

 **You totally cock-blocked me last night but somehow I still feel bad for you. Ash is pissed.**

 _Thanks for the reminder kitty._ The text would be frustrating and stop at that if it didn't mean she still wants to talk to me, and what is _up_ with those two?

 **Are u guys dating? I thought u were seeing someone**

I can't help the curiosity but I immediately get a bad feeling about the last bit. Dontcha wish there was a 'take back' button? She lets me fret for thirty minutes before she bothers to reply.

 **So? Polyamorous people exist Harley.**

 _Take your stupid foot outa your mouth Harls-_

 **Thats awesome! I really ain't mean any offence Kitty, Im sorry**

I mean seriously, I should the last person to judge anyone for their romantic relationships. This time she lets me gnaw my lip for about an hour, which consequently gives me the chance to dust J's entire office before she lets me off the hook.

 **Fine. Anyways, I've decided to make the most of you since you signed yourself up for a death sentence. Meet me on the roof of the Cabot building at 12 tonight.**

Well that's a _little_ harsh but it sounds like I'm in. I have a friend again, just like that! It almost seems too easy.

 **Ok, I'll be there! I really can't wait to see u kitkat, I missed u alot**

It's not a lie, not even a little bit. For all her sass and bitterness, Selina is fun and there's still a lot she can teach me.

 **K well don't get excited, I'm mostly doing this for Ash. She's worried but she doesn't want to see your face.**

I cringe, flipping my phone upside down to hide from the text for a moment before flipping it back over to reply.

 **She deserves better than me.**

This time she replies almost immediately and I can _feel_ the aggravation in her tiny typed letters.

 **Get over it and do better.**

That's probably fair.

I don't know what to say so I just type a goodnight and shove my phone back in my pocket. Ok, so I'm not beaming anymore. _Ugh_. I pick myself up and limp to my room to patch up my various injuries before taking a shower. The process is slow because I'm achy and sluggish, and when I'm done I'm hungry and nauseous at the same time so I force down a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter before heading back to his room.

I shouldn't, he could come home at any time and find me here. I doubt I'd be able to hide, he'd probably smell me or something ridiculous like that. Wonder what kinda punishment I could get for somethin' like that? I'm snickering as I push open his door and walk inside- it's not that I ain't scared, it's just that I get tingly every time I think about him getting violent, and I _really_ wanna snoop around in here. Yeah, I _know_ it's creep, but I'm creepy, I've come to terms with that and I'm ready to indulge myself. Free of the panic that plagued me when I first came in here, I fall into my senses. It smells like him in here, it looks like him too- messy, dangerous, and precariously beautiful. _His_ clothes are heaped in mountains, salted with weapons, stray bits of ammo and makeup. _His_ sketches are plastered on the wall, masterpieces in purple crayon and a rusty brown blood just like the ones in his office. This is a fucking dream!

This is a treasure trove.

The retro projector and corresponding porthole at the front identify it as the projection room like the label on the door, but the space is unusually large- I say unusual because most projection rooms are closets and this one is able to accommodate a king sized bed and a wardrobe with ample room to walk around. Even the bathroom is improbably grand, complete with a gilded claw-foot tub deep enough to house a small sea monster- this room has to have gone through some serious renovations. I peek into the cabinet under the sink to find it overflowing; there's a fair amount of first aid supplies but it's mostly hair products, tools, makeup, and _so_ many bottles of nail polish. I giggle at that, he probably has more than me; a veritable rainbow of purples, greens, oranges, and reds, glittering aggressively under the LED light of the vanity mirror.

I head back out to the warzone in the bedroom, taking in discarded shirts and rumpled trousers draped over Uzis and open butterfly knives. Then I notice the socks- argyle, polka dots, stars, stripes, and smiley faces. And then- my face splits into the world's widest grin.

 _Batman briefs._

I pluck them from the wreckage like a holy relic and I swear I can hear a choir of angels. This has to be one of the funniest things I have _ever_ seen, and it's so freakin' adorable that I almost want to cry- he has batsy undies! I try to imagine him wearing them but my wholesome affection turns to absolute sin, and I can't deal with that right now so I carefully tuck the artefact under an orange t-shirt emblazoned with the words: 'I killed Robin and all I got was this lousy shirt'.

Eventually I make my way through the ocean of yet more lipstick tubes, fast-food wrappers and shell casings to inspect the wardrobe he has shoved up against the wall. Behind its doors I find the only orderly part of the room- the place where he stores the suits. My breath becomes a bit rushed. They come in plum, amethyst, violet, and midnight black- all the highest quality wool, velvet, or shinning satin. Tailcoats, suit jackets and tuxes complete with vests and cummerbunds in jack-o lantern orange, evergreen, canary yellow and vibrant magenta. The shirts are creamy silks, cotton and twill in pinstripes and polka dots of every colour, and hanging from a hook on the inside of the door are a healthy range of those long looping bow ties he likes.

Surreptitiously, I reach out and stroke a fine woollen sleeve. I get this deliciously illicit feeling, like I'm touching a painting on the wall at a museum, except the fingertip contact isn't nearly enough so I bury my face in the garment, marvelling in the fact that I can. I inhale deeply, smelling him in every fiber, a nd an opioid calm rushes warm through my limbs.

 _These clothes are lucky to be so close to him._

They get to be on him _all_ the _time_ , I would kill for an opportunity like that. I sigh into the sleeve, reluctantly pulling myself away before I can take that thought all the way to it's inevitably sexualised end- I'm not here to diddle myself in his closet, I'm here to look around, so I turn my back on the Joker-lingerie. I almost flinch when I lay my eyes on the mess again, realizing that these perfect, _beautiful_ suits have to spend all day looking at this- and by extension so does my Puddin. I try to imagine him wading through the wreckage and I wonder how he ever finds his socks.

The first thing I fold is a pair of purple silk pyjama pants, and the action is something like reflex. The second is a much more conscious decision, and soon I've cleared a third of the floor. I've taken to sniffing certain items, but I swear I'm really just trying to figure out if they're clean as I sort them into piles- one for garbage, one for dirty laundry and one for items that need mending. Make-up and nail polish I arrange by colour on top of his dresser, which I'm quickly filling with freshly folded clothing. Weapons I display against the wall by calibre for guns and length for knives, assorted ammo piled next to its corresponding gun.

Only when the room is nearly pristine do I realize that he's liable to notice I've been in here. That could be really, really bad. Then again…maybe he'll appreciate it? Probably not, but this is _better_ for him. Sometimes you have to show people what they need.

Either way I have a project now, so I run to my room for my sewing kit and I start darning socks and stitching seams. With mending checked off the list, I gather the laundry and do a butt-load of research trying to figure out how to clean his fancy stuff without ruining it. I'm not going to risk going to a dry-cleaners with a bunch of bloodstained purple suits, so I proceed cautiously, doing spot-tests as I go and making it through without any major disasters. I hang wet things to dry and then I make myself a pb&J, feeling productive and satisfied enough to have forgotten the fact that he might have a problem with this. I've abandoned the sandwich format and I'm shovelling peanut butter directly into my mouth by the time I bother to check a clock.

 _Shit, it's 11:45!_

I'm up and sprinting to my room in seconds, yanking on some black leggings and a hoodie then scrambling to tie on my sneakers before racing to the basement exit- how the hell am I going to make it to the cabot building in ten minutes? _Selina is not going to be happy-_

I run, clearing the sewer in under a minute and climbing the first building I see. I dash across the rooftops, ignoring the shocked burn in my lungs and the stabbing pain from my battered feet. I focus on moving faster, only slowing to check my phone and make sure I'm going in the right direction. The whole way there I'm trying to figure out how I'll apologize for my lateness, so it doesn't even occur to me that she might not wait around until I get there, and she's already three buildings away.

"HEY!"

She looks back with a sneer and keeps going, but I am _not_ about to get ditched for being five minutes late so I rush after her. I close the distance between us quickly but only because she's not moving at top speed, and that means she's not really going to leave but she's definitely going to put up a fuss about it.

"I don't wait around for people, I think I've _mentioned_ that before." She snaps, yanking her arm away when I grab it. Still, she slows to a walk.

"I'm sorry," I'm a bit breathless but it will help my cause so I keep going. "I made a dumb mistake and went in the wrong direction," It's only a _little_ lie- "I _really_ didn't mean to be late an I was _really_ excited to see you, please gimme a chance kitty, _please-_ "

"Oh my god, just _stop_. _Fine_." I clap in my excitement and Selina gives me a dirty look, but she's stopped walking all together now so I'm in the clear.

"What do you wanna do, then? Cause I was thinkin-" Selina cuts me off with a roundhouse kick that I barely manage to block, then she jumps back and settles into a better stance for a scuffle.

"Don't look so put out, you've had your warmup." _Ever the drill sergeant._ She doesn't advance, opting to circle me instead. "Don't tell me you've gone soft running with that clown _-_ " She lunges forward, throwing a quick jab that lands hard and dancing out of the way when I try to hit back.

" _Nuh-uh,_ Puddin' keeps me on my toes-" I giggle, spinning forward with a kick that she blocks, then ducking the chop she aims at my neck. I throw a punch and she grabs my wrist, so I twist my arm to break her grip.

"Do you call him that to his face?" She snorts, advancing fast with a torrent of sharp blows that I barely manage to dodge.

"Sometimes-" I can tell she isn't going to let up so I drop to the ground and roll between her legs, coming up behind her to kick back. She catches my ankle and she's about to pull me into a throw so I drop into another roll and she has to let go.

"This is surreal." She shakes her head, skipping back as I sweep a leg under her feet. "Got to admit you seem better than I thought you would-" I'm half way back to my feet when she tackles me to the ground.

"I'm frickin _amazing-_ " I'm grinning as we grapple, rolling dangerously close to the edge before Selina steers us away by throwing me over her shoulder.

"Better than I thought means you still have all your limbs, calm down-" She grunts, knocking away my elbow as I swing it around to smack her across the jaw. I would reply except she's forcing me into a hold I know I won't be able to break, and all my concentration is going into holding her back. She's got me but I keep fighting because I can't bare to back down, only tapping out when it _really_ starts to hurt. She lets go and I roll onto my back, panting to catch my breath as we lie side by side under a starless city sky.

"Were you with him at Arkham?" The question comes out of nowhere and Selina seems almost uncomfortable asking it.

"Who wants to know, you or Ash?" I quirk an eyebrow and she huffs a dry laugh.

"A bit of both, mostly Ash." She shrugs. "He was the guy you were talking about that night, wasn't he? When I found the bruises on your neck." I _remember_ that night. That was right after the trust game in his cell and it seems like it happened ages ago even through it's really only been months.

"Yeah…" I sound dreamy and do feel a little bit floaty, buoyed by the warmth of the memory. "I mean we weren't _really_ together yet-" I can't keep the smile off my face, hugging my knees to my chest in an effort to contain the overbearing joy. "A few weeks after that he broke out an we went on our first date, he left a- um, a valentine in my apartment." I'm hoping she won't pick up on the way I stammer but she looks skeptical.

"He left you a _valentine_?"

" _Yeah_ silly, a card with a heart on it an stuff." Technically that's true, she doesn't need to know that it was a real, _actual_ heart taken straight out of the (former) warden.

"Ok so, he gave you a valentine and took you on a _date_ -" she pronounces the word with deep skepticism, tipping her head to the side and settling her perpetually lazer-sharp gaze on my face. "And then you just… broke him out of prison. Just like that."

"No, not just like that- I broke him out cause they were _abusing_ him-" I resist the urge to say more, to plead my case but I don't _need_ to, it's true. Selina's still watching me, her lips pressed into a thin little line.

"And now you're living with him." She doesn't sound very happy about it, but there's something about hearing someone else say it that makes me feel like bouncing.

"Yeah," My grin has stretched so wide that my cheeks are starting to hurt. "An I'm _finally_ happy."

"You sound ridiculous, you know that right? He's a literal nightmare."

 _You fucked the literal Batman_ \- that's what I _want_ to say. Instead I make myself take a breath, then I look her in the eyes.

"He's the love of my life."

"He's going to kill you," Selina breaks my stare and shoves herself up to sit, furiously tying a loose shoelace. "You have to know that."

"Maybe _some_ day-" I push myself up too, rolling onto my knees and crawling around to sit in front of her. "But everybody's gotta die eventually, an I don't care how long I last if I get to spend the rest of my life with him." A disheartening series of expressions pass over Selinas face before she shakes her head.

"Jesus _christ-_ "

"Ok, look, you do dangerous stuff all the time, right? Breakin' into high-security vaults an makin deals with shady people- you risk your life at least as much as I do with him, probably more-"

"What _I_ do is none of your business, and even if that were true it's not a fair comparison!" She gets to her feet and panic wells in my chest as I jump up to follow, putting my hands up in a plea to keep her from running away again.

"C'mon Selina, just-" She tries to side-step me but I manage to slide into her path and block her again. "Can we just put this behind us? I don't get why- are you mad at me?" She's about to shove past me but then she whirls back, rage melting the gold in her brown eyes.

"Yeah Harley, I'm mad! For some reason I care about you, and now you're living with a serial killer- scratch that, _the_ serial killer- I really don't know how else to explain this situation because it would be _blindingly_ obvious if you hadn't clearly lost your mind!"

"I'm not _crazy_ , I just- I wasn't a happy person before, Selina! I didn't lose my mind, he didn't kidnap me or break me or whatever you think- all he did was show me how to become myself! I know he ain't perfect-" _Thats a big fat lie. "-_ But he makes me _happy_." I'm shaking now and my eyes are starting to sting but I don't care. "You don't have to like this but _please_ don't let it come between us." She's still standing there when I pause for a breath so I take a chance- "I might be dating gotham's most wanted bachelor but I still need my gal pals." I stare at her until she meets my eyes. "I need you kitty. And I need Ash."

"You broke her fucking heart."

"An now I just wanna fix it!" My desperate words hang in the air between us like a ghost as Selina turns her back to me, lining her toes up with the edge of the roof.

"I don't ever want to see his face and you better keep him away from her."

"I can do that! I won't even mention him-"

"I'm _serious_ Harley. You're allowed to make your own choices, but if you let him hurt her you'll have me to deal with."

"He wouldn't-"

"Stop, I'm not an idiot- I know why you ghosted her in the first place. Just keep him away."

"I _promise_ , but please-"

"I don't have the energy for this-" she cuts me off, shaking her head. "We can stay friends or whatever but I can't stand to look at you right now, so _goodnight_." She jumps before she finishes the word and her voice drops into the void with her. Cats always land on their feet so I'm not worried, but I still peek over the edge to watch her sprinting off along the streetcar wires suspended over the street.

I _think_ that was a success, but it doesn't really feel like one. It _feels_ like I'm gonna spend a lot of time apologizing and feeling like an asshole so that's… well the psychiatrist in me says that trust has been broken and I can't expect to get it back in a day, but the other part of me says that this is bullshit and just want my friends back. It has to be a good sign that Ash got Selina to ask questions for her, right? Even if she's not talking to me she hasn't completely shut down the lines of communication, so maybe she wants me back! Maybe she's not ready yet and I just have to be patient.

I've always been _terrible_ with patience.

I pick myself up and head back home at a jog rather than a sprint- I'm anxious to see if Puddin' finally came back, but my feet still hurt from the glass. When I finally get back I limp through another search of the theater but there's still no sign of him, so I try to suck it up, slipping into his office to fall back on the blow-up couch. I flick the TV on to cycle obsessively through news channels for a mention of his name, and I almost skip over a crime report on GCN until I recognize the image on screen.

It's Carter Port.

"Carter Port, billionaire CEO of pharmaceuticals conglomerate Evarex, was found dead in his Gotham penthouse late last night, following a noise complaint reporting excessive laughter. We spoke to the security officer onsite at Port's place of residence, who witnessed the late Port walking through the lobby around ten-thirty that night, accompanied by an attractive woman and followed closely behind by a man he now believes to be the Joker." Late night reporter Jeff Newsom pauses for dramatic effect, shuffling some papers to the side and folding his hands.

"The GCPD has yet to release an official statement, but there is speculation that the woman spotted with Port was an accomplice. Some have even gone so far as to suggest that she may have been the Joker's former psychiatrist, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, who went missing during a large-scale breakout at arkham asylum last month. Quinzel was initially considered a suspect in the breakout given her close relationship with the killer, but her absence since then has lead some to question whether she may have been murdered or kidnapped by the clown-" _Goddamnit_. Doesn't anybody get it? A frustrated heat prickles up my back and I jab my finger against the off button. The screen goes black, retracting its blue-white glow and plunging his office back into darkness.

" _I_ did it!" I tell the shadows. "I stabbed Carter Port and I haven't been kidnapped!" I'm on my feet but I don't remember standing. "I ain't a freakin' _VICTIM_ -" I'm screaming at the wall of blank Tv screens now, anger burning in my stomach. "I've killed at least ten people, probly more!" I shout incredulously, whirling around to face his empty desk. I'm about to keep yelling but something about the Joker-less space pulls me up short. I need to get out of here before I break something.

Because I'm _definitely_ going to need to break something-

First Selina and Ash, now this? Why does everybody have to just assume that I've been dismembered or something? I mean come on, have a little goddamn faith, I ain't freakin' stupid, I survived months as his psychiatrist and I'm still kicking! They should be scared of _me._ I march myself out of the office, grabbing my baseball bat and that half-empty bottle of vodka from my room before heading to the theater and reducing a chair to splinters. I pause for a breather when the bat gets stuck in the wreckage, taking a swig of vodka and cringing when the burn runs down my throat.

"Ima _SERIAL KILLER_!" My voice sounds wet and gritty so I take another drink but I tip too far back and I stumble, landing on my butt and spilling vodka on my shirt. The smell is awful and I _hate_ this feeling, so I sit there and I drink some more until my head spins and I can't remember why I'm mad anymore. When the bottle is empty I drop it onto its side and watch it roll down the inclined floor, then I crawl over to the aisle to roll _myself_ down the inclined floor, giggling as I go. It's so much fun that I run right back up to the top and do it all over again, and again, and again until I roll a little too hard and smack my head against the base of the stage, at which point I decide that I need more booze. I do a vague search of the kitchen but I don't find anything that wasn't there before and come to think of it, booze probably don't affect my Puddin' too much so he ain't got any reason to keep it in the house.

I stumble down to the basement, snatching a random wig and pulling it on for a trip to the corner store then skipping home with a bag full of stolen chocolate and bad wine. I crack open the bottle halfway through the sewer and it's so gross that I have to mix it with grape soda, but after that it goes down real smooth. I find myself wandering back to his office, going straight to his selection of records and thumbing through them. I lap up the titles, trying to memorize them all for later- from Tom lehrer to David Bowie, to Madonna, to the Bee Gees I want to hear it all, every single track.

My fingers itch to pull one out of it's sleeve, to lay a needle on the outermost track and drown in the sounds, but even tipsy I know that's a _really_ bad idea. Original records are irreplaceable and none of these are remastered copies as far as I can tell. I doubt he paid for any of these but that doesn't matter, he still had to track them all down and get them home undamaged so they _mean_ something and it would only take a single slip up to break them. It takes all of my drunken will to step away and drop into his desk chair, opening youtube on my phone to play the songs there instead. The sharp notes that funnel out of the tiny speakers are a pale imposter of the notes that would be played from one of those records, but it's enough for now.

I start with Modern Love, letting Bowie lift me up out of the chair and spin me around the room. Then I fill the air with Superstition, strutting around as Stevie Wonder wails, drumming on the desk along to Sympathy with the Devil and shaking my hips to the Coasters. I don't recognize the next song when I put it on, but Freddie Mercury's opening croon captures me effortlessly.

" _Tonight… I'm gonna have myself a real good time…."_ The piano is soft and melodic at first but the vocals are rich and he might as well be singing himself- " _And the world….I'll turn it inside out, yeah, I'm floating around in ecstasy, so don't stop me now….don't stop me, cause I'm having a good time, having a good time-_ " Suddenly a raucous drum kicks in and the piano goes wild as Freddie's voice catches fire. " _I'm a shooting star, leaping through the sky like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity-"_ I've forgotten to dance because a rush of overwhelming affection has filled my chest and I can't seem to do anything but stand there and hug myself as water wells up in the corners of my eyes.

This song is him.

So beautifully, vibrantly alive that it hurts, creative, destructive raw energy in a person suit, itching to break free and devour the world. He's mythical, he's- _God,_ sometimes I'm not even sure he's real. He could be some sort of fever dream, or maybe the musings of a comatose brain. Maybe I died and this is _heaven…._ nah, who am I kidding?

I ain't gonna get in up there.

I put the song on repeat and I dance around his office until my legs give out from the wine and the exertion, and I almost go to sleep right there until I remember I can sleep in his bed. I pick myself up, stumbling all the way through the theater and up the projection room stairs to fall into the plush purple nest. Being able to sleep here isn't worth his absence but it's a comforting alternative and it calms the nauseous spinning in my head, so I tuck myself deep down in the slew of pillows and blankets, and I fall into a dead sleep.

….

…

..

" _Good Morning Harley,_ " I'm wide awake in less than a second.

The first thing that comes out of me is a startled squeak, and then something sharp presses against my throat. A weight settles on my hips, pinning me down to the mattress.

"What _exactly_ do you think you're doing in my bed?" I have no idea how to answer that but I'd rather just stare at him anyways _._ He's only wearing briefs and his makeup is smeared sideways off his face, his eyes still hazy and unfocused from sleep- _ohmygodhemusthaveslepthere._ He must not have noticed me when he got into bed last night! _Holy shit, we slept in the same bed holy shit, holy shit-_

"If you don't explain yourself in the next ten seconds," His voice is still rough and it adds to the growl, sending goosebumps down my arms. "- I'll assume you were trying to molest me and I'll have to cut your hands off, there's just no two ways about it." _Ok I need to think of something fast-_

I blame what happens next on the fact that I just woke up because I don't even _try_ to come up with a response, I just grab his wrist to shove the knife away from my neck. The momentum sends us sideways off the bed and I land on top of him but he rolls me over as we wrestle for the weapon. We're hopelessly tangled in the sheets now and he's started laughing, pinching my side viciously to make me squeal and drop the knife. I bring up my elbow as he lunges for it, hitting him under the chin to knock him away and then making a desperate grab for the knife. I'm focused on him, on his feral grin as he twists my other arm, so I don't notice that I've got the knife by the blade until it bites into my palm.

" _Ah-_ " I drop it as my hand goes limp with the pain and he lunges again- this time he doesn't go for the knife though, he goes for my wrist.

I swear to god time slows down as he pulls up my hand to inspect the wound.

It's deep, I can feel it, and the blood has started to drip down between my fingers, painting his porcelain skin in scarlet. His pupils are wide, focused hard on my palm as he presses fingers against the cut, pulling the edges apart to peer inside. The sting of it hits my bones, paralyzing me until it melts and I feel drunk all over again. I'm pretty sure this can't get any better when he pulls my hand to his mouth. I feel the brush of his lips, the warmth of his tongue against my lacerated flesh, and a fever rushes through me. I gasp as shiver erupts over my skin and he flicks his tongue, closing his eyes and drawing in a long breath through his nose.

He lets my hand drop from his mouth and stills for a moment, looking like a nightmare of white bone with my blood staining his mouth and nose. My hand is still seeping blood, still clutched in his and at some point my other hand finds his chest, fingers splaying out to feel the quickened thud of his heartbeat. The thrum of it runs through the bones of my fingers into my arm, all the way to my ribs where it vibrates against my heart. When I can barely breath, I look into his eyes.

It's a mistake.

For a fraction of a second there's something there, something raw and bright, something that makes my heart swell and burst- then he rips it away and his eyes darken in fury. I don't have time to react to the moodswing before he's got the knife back in his hand and he's raising it up above my chest. I don't have time to understand that I'm about to die before a blood curdling scream rips through the air and the blade halts inches from my skin.

My mind is whirling. What just happened and who the _hell_ is screaming? I'm pretty sure it's not me and it's definitely not J- he's moving, shifting his weight to keep the knife at my throat as he reaches for something on the nightstand. He pulls away with a new phone in a shiny purple case, resettling himself on my stomach before lifting it to his ear. It still takes me a few seconds to figure out that the screaming was just his ringtone.

"Bonjourno! Might I speak to Monsieur Pingu por favore?" He answers the phone like he's the one who made the call and I swallow a giggle at the confused silence on the other end. He rolls his eyes at the eventual response, tipping his head to the side. "You're ever so astute Pengers, you did, in fact initiate this little gab session. I'm not sure why you felt the need to reassert that-" He pauses as Penguin lets loose a torrent of something undoubtedly cutting that only manages to make him grin.

"Well you should have said so! Is it because you missed me? I know I've been gone _ever_ so long-" He pauses for another interruption, his expression flickering from annoyance to surprise to calculation as he arches a brow. "And what does _she_ want?" His eyes flick down to my face and he narrows them before tossing the knife to the side- again, _what_ just happened?

"Oh don't get your feathers in a ruffle, I know how to make a deal." Penguin seems to go on about something and J yawns big before speaking again. "Well if you didn't want me to play frisbee with the dinner plates then you should have said something! I don't see how your lack of communication is my fault." Another pause and then he giggles." _Yes_ , _yes_ , I'll be on my best behaviour _._ Although I must admit, I'm shocked you brought up the dinner plates before the arsenic. People _died_ , you know-" He says this like he isn't clearly responsible for those deaths, still grinning as he turns to the standing mirror propped up by the wardrobe. He runs a hand through his hopelessly dishevelled hair and blows his reflection a kiss as Penguin rattles on in his ear.

"Your lack of concern for human life is truly disturbing, Oswald." He snickers, catching my gaze in the mirror and crossing his eyes to make me giggle. "Who, _me_? I'm a very sick man, I can hardly be blamed." Another pause and his eyes light up. "Why my psychiatrist of course!" He exclaims, glancing down at me with a smirk. "What do you think doc? Is any of it _really_ my fault?"

"Oh _no_ , Mistah J-" I shake my head an emphatic no, delighted at being brought into the conversation. "It ain't you, it's the system!"

"Y'hear that Pengy? It's the _system's_ fault." He snickers, twirling one of my pigtails around his finger then tugging hard enough to make me squeak. Penguin replies with something curt that has J laughing, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear to pick at the chipping purple polish on his fingernails. "Mmm, and who took us off topic? _I'm_ not the one who brought up your precious China-" Penguin goes off again and J shifts the phone back into his hand to pull it away from his ear until the other man stops talking.

"Right you are old pal!" I'm pretty sure J didn't listen to a word he just said- "Until tonight then. Toodles!" He ends the call before Penguin can reply, tossing his phone onto the bed and then planting his hands on either side of my head. He stares down at me for a very long minute, lips pursed as I squirm under the scrutiny.

"We're going out." One of his eyebrows arches up like a warning but I can't bring myself to heed it.

"On a date?" My voice is pitched high in my excitement and he scrunches his nose.

" _No_." He utters that one sharp word and jumps to his feet, dragging me up with him. The sheets fall in a pile at our feet and for the first time he seems to notice that the floor is mostly clear. His hand turns into a vice on my upper arm and his eyes dart up and around the room as his mouth curls down into a definitive scowl.

"What. Did. You. _Do_."

Oh shit. _Oh shit oh shit_ -

"It was so messy! All your pretty stuff on the floor, I just-" His nostrils flare and I realize how little time I have to fix this- "I'm sorry! I didn't take anything, I swear, it's all here, I promise! I just organized an' stuff, an some things are just drying cause they were a lil dirty so I cleaned em', but it's all here, I promi-" J claps a hand over my mouth and it's just as well, I was about to run out of breath anyways and I'm not really sure what more I can say.

He's very still except for that angry little twitch at the corner of his mouth and the room feels about thirty degrees colder, but then he scrunches his face up and when he lets go he's wearing a big smile. It looks a bit painful and I don't trust it for a second, but then I remember how he put down the knife after Penguin mentioned some about some lady.

 _He needs me for something._

"How _thoughtful_ ," He speaks through gritted teeth but he's still smiling. "You're going to go downstairs now," His voice is sickly sweet as his hand moves from my mouth to my jaw. "-and you're going to make _pancakes_. Pancakes with _chocolate_ _chips_." His grip on my arm is a sharp contrast to the show he's putting on as he yanks me closer to put us nose to nose.

"But if you _ever_ come back in here I'll skin you and turn your hide into a new duvet cover. Kapish?" I barely have time to nod before he spins me around to plant a foot on my butt and shove me toward the doorway.

I'm almost glad for the distance because I'm grinning like I just won the lottery as I cross the threshold, and I can't keep myself from dancing down the stairs to the theater. I don't care what he says, we're going on a _date_.

 **Notes Round 2: dat playlist**

1\. Trouble- Elvis Presley

2\. Shout- The Isley Brothers

3\. You Rascal You- Louis Prima

4\. Make em' laugh- Donald O'Connor (from singin in the rain- if you don't already know this scene go watch it)

5\. Put on a Happy Face- Tony Bennet

6\. The Candy Man- Sammy Davis Junior

7\. Dancing in the Moonlight- King Harvest (this one goes out to batsy)

8\. Mr. Blue Sky- Electric Light Orchestra

9\. Kung Fu Fighting- Carl Douglas (please imagine him singing this while fighting the bat)

10\. Shakin' all Over- The Guess Who

11\. Love Her Madly- The Doors (this is not for Harley, not even a little. Stop looking at him like that, shut up. What do you know, anyways?)

12\. Never met a girl like you before- Iggy Pop (see above)

13\. Rock the Casbah- The Clash

14\. Bring on the Night- The Police (Bring on the knight?)

15\. Fame- David Bowie

16\. Bourbon Street- Jeff Tuohy

17\. Superstition- Stevie Wonder

18\. Play That Funky Music- Wild Cherry

19\. Jungle Boogie- Kool & The Gang

20\. I'm Your Boogie Man- KC & the Sunshine Gang

21\. Ballroom Blitz- Sweet

22\. Sympathy For The Devil- The Rolling Stones

Bonus Track because this song is his jam but I couldn't find a coherent way to put it on this playlist:

Oops, I did it again- Britney Spears (Just try and tell me he isn't a huge Britney fan. I'll fight you.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors Note:**

Hello my baby, hello my honey, hello my ragtime-doll…

I told you I wasn't giving up on this fic! I started writing this series four years ago, I may be slow but you best believe I'm not giving up now.

Just wanted to comment on a few of the reviews from last chapter- you can just skip down to my warnings if you're not into it, but if you want some character analysis, stick around!

BlueSociopath said they hoped to see Jokers feelings for Harley developing soon, and lala3366 asked if Joker would have killed Harley if he didn't need need her for something- the answer to that second question is yes, and the reason for that is that he already has the feels for her. Usually the hypothetical murder has to be funny or instrumental for him to want to do it, and stabbing Harley on impulse is definitely either of those. Why? Because on some level he knows he has feelings for her and they make him so uncomfortable that in clear moments he's almost desperate for an excuse to get rid of her. (Remember that time he tried to shoot her into space on a rocket? Batman: Harley Quinn issue 1 in case you were wondering)

Moving on.

To Auntleona: Your review made me so happy, Harley is a total creep! I think that gets overlooked in favor of Jokers overt violence, but she's blatantly a very scary stalker. Her obsessiveness and disregard for jokers boundaries are hallmarks of emotionally abusive behaviour- _sure_ , she just wants to make him happy, but if he thinks that doesn't include her then he just doesn't know what's best for him. On top of that she's vengeful and socially manipulative, which is partially why she seems so different when she's around Ash and Selina. She knows that most people see her as juvenile and mostly helpless, and because of that her abusive behaviours are brushed off as annoying, but mostly harmless "crazy girl behaviour". She's _cultivated_ an image of childishness that encourages people to see her as a victim- not that she isn't a victim at times, especially in some comics and with certain characterizations she is absolutely, 100% the victim in this relationship.

I've been trying to write a different kind of Harley here, someone who compliments and counters Joker with more than just aesthetics. She's the kind of girl who would break into your house to steal your clothing, then frame you for murder when you try to take out a restraining order- or maybe she would just kill you herself and pass it off as self-defence. The point is, she's less veronica from the Heathers, more Alex from Fatal Attraction, and she would absolutely destroy anyone less than the clown prince himself.

WARNINGS: Ladies, gents, and non-binary babes, the moment you've all been waiting for...BONFIDE SEXUAL CONTENT. That's right, you heard me, they are going to do the sex things. If you're underage or just uncomfortable with this, feel free to skip it! Otherwise proceed with caution because this shit is obviously kinky. Also, I'm not entirely sure if this complies with this site's guidelines! I did review them but I honestly found them quite vague, so I'm really hoping this is alright and I don't get reported or something.

Anyways! After that over-long ramble, I give you:

 **Chapter 8: Bizarre love triangle**

" _HARLEY!"_

 _Shit-_

I spent the morning moisturizing and polishing before trying on about a hundred different outfits and deciding that none of them were suitable. So of course I had to go out and buy some new dresses with my freshly stolen cash- only none of those seemed right when I got them home, so I dug back through my old stuff and unearthed an Ash creation. It was one of my old ballet costumes, just a basic red dress with spaghetti straps and a long chiffon skirt. Or at least it was before she got at it, wrapping straps of black leather around the torso to add a halter and shredding the skirt to tatters. It was perfect!

Only then I had to figure out what to wear _under_ it, cause none of my lingerie seemed right. So I went out _again_ and bought a bunch of fancy undies and garters. I eventually decided on a lacy black set, attaching a pair of plain black stockings before pulling on my dress to hide it all away.

Hopefully _someone_ will find it.

So now it's nine thirty and he's banging on my door while I race to lace up my special boots. I've just tied a bow on boot number two when he throws the door open, so I rush and grab my gun purse, slinging it over my shoulder and then standing to attention at his feet. I'm about to apologize for the lateness but he's looking me over and my breath catches in my throat- he's wearing the purple velvet tux. He's paired it with a plum satin vest and a crisp white shirt, cincing the wingtip collar with a bold orange bow. He looks _unreal_.

"Well it's an improvement on the adult baby look, so I'll take it." He delivers this line like an aside to himself, but it's clearly meant for me- I'm graced with a momentary smirk before he puts a hand on the back of my neck and marchs me out of my room. Don't worry, I caught the insult- it's just that it doesn't hit home; I'm still trying to shove down the rash of indulgent little fantasies inspired by that goddamn suit.

"You look frickin' _gorgeous_." The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, and he rolls his eyes.

"Yes of course I do cupcake, now hurry along before I decide to drown you in the sewer and be done with it." He tugs one of my pigtails I giggle, picking up the pace so I'm half-jogging alongside him.

"The water down there's only like, _three_ inches deep, Mistah J." I'm still giggling and he turns to me, arching an eyebrow as we start down the basement stairs.

"It's not volume that counts Harl, it's what you do with it-" He pauses to punch in the door code and we pass into the darkness of the sewer. "I once drowned a man in a puddle."

"You ever done a bird-feeder?"

"Of course I've done a bird-feeder! Who do you think I am?"

"Our Lord and saviour." Well, I'm being honest- honesty gets me a snort.

"Tell it to Batsy." He drops his hand from my neck but then he scoops me up under one arm, lugging me along so he can walk faster. He's muttering something about ridiculously short legs, and I could definitely say something about ridiculously _long_ legs but I keep my mouth shut. I'm enjoying this _way_ too much.

When we finally crawl up out of the tunnel Roscoe is waiting for us in a vintage Rolls Royce. I can't quite tell what colour it is in the flickering parking lot lights, but I'd bet my favourite gun it's purple. Roscoe opens the backseat door for us and J shoves me through it, sliding in after and then leaning forward to fiddle with the sound system. Roscoe settles back into the front seat while J turns the volume up to fill the car with Frank sinatra's voice, and then we're off! Sailing through Gotham's dingy neon night.

J looks like Saturday morning right now, all anticipation and possibility as rolls down the window and sticks his head out to whoop at the city. I laugh, bouncing and humming along to the music as I inch my way closer to him. I've got myself pressed up against his side and he hasn't done anything but grumble about it, so I'm working up the courage to climb into his lap when he startles me by opening the car door and climbing out.

Apparently we're here?

His hand darts back in to grab me by the wrist and he drags me out. I lurch into the light, immediately greeted by the buzz of chatter and the epileptic flashing of cellphone cameras- holy shit, we're on some sort of red carpet? I look up to take in the gleaming black building it leads to, my eyes moving first to the neon purple umbrella above the doorway, then to the line of glamorous people wrapped around the block.

I swear to god every single one of them is staring at us.

" _Smile for the cameras, Harl."_ J speaks just loud enough for me to hear, turning his most dazzling grin on the crowd and giving them a jaunty little salute before draping and arm over my shoulder.

I catch on quick, doing my best bimbo giggle and clutching at his jacket like a groupie as we strut toward the doors. The twin giants flanking them seem to tense up at J's approach, but they don't waste time in letting us in. On the other side a terrified host attempts to greet us, managing only to stutter until J nudges him to the side and leads us through the entryway into a grand, glittering dining room. Raw crystal chandeliers cast fractured light up into the cavernous cathedral ceiling, and down to the black marble floor below, where it illuminates clusters of manicured people sipping expensive drinks. There are curtained off areas along the perimeter- private dining rooms I'd assume- and a live band onstage, and all that is pretty cool, but I don't give a shit cause the back wall is an aquarium.

A great big honkin' aquarium!

"Holy cow!" I mumble, taking an unconscious step toward it as an octopus swims forward to plant a tentacle on the glass.

"No, no-" J chuckles, ruffling my hair. "Not a _cow,_ cupcake, an _oc-to-pus_." I would tell him I know that, but he knows I know, so I just pout instead. He's smirking at me all smug, and I'm blushing even though I have no reason to, so I'm real disappointed when he looks away to glance over my shoulder.

"Pengy!" A much more normal, menacing sort of grin replaces the unnameable one, and he lets go of my head to throw his hands up in greeting. I spin around to see a very ruffled Oswald Cobblepot marching toward us.

"I told you to come in the back!" He hisses, getting close enough to keep his clientele from hearing- they've already noticed us of course, a couple of them are even trying to sneak out.

"Didn't want to make Eddie jealous." J returns, shooting Penuin a very troublesome grin. _Does that mean what I think it means?_

"You didn't tell me you were bringing a plus one." I think Pengy might actually be a little pink- he's got a good sneer going but it's not hiding anything. He turns to me, arching a brow. "It is so very… interesting to see you again, Miss Quinzel."

"Good ta see you too Mistah Cobblepot!" I give him my sweetest smile, wrapping my arms around J's waist.

"Oh, I forgot about the little fighty-club! So _quaint_." J's tone is steeped in condescension and Penguin narrows his eyes, returning a very fake smile indeed. "What's it called, angry birds?"

 _I swear to I've walked onto an episode of the real housewives._

"You've kept us waiting." Oswald ignores the jab, turning on his heel to limp purposefully back out of the dinning hall and into a parallel hallway leading to an antique lift.

"I am fashionable, therefore I am late." Replies J with a sage nod "And it wasn't _my_ fault, it was Harley." He cuts me a mirthful glance and I realize just how much fun he's having as we step onto the lift.

"Nuh uh!" I whine just to play up the moment, putting on a pout and crossing my arms.

"Use your _words_ , you're a doctor for god's sake!"

" _Yeah_ buster, I'm _your_ doctor an'-"

"I am absolutely certain," Interrupts Penguin as the lift doors open. "That I do _not_ want to know where this conversation is going." With that he blusters out into another grand gothic hall, this one painted in grayscale- if it weren't for us I might think we'd walked into a black and white movie.

"That's really no way to speak to a patron, Oswald." J outpaces him easily, turning around to walk backward in front of us as I hustle to catch up.

"You're not a patron!" Snaps Pengy. "You've never actually _paid_ for a meal here-"

"You wound me," J cries, clutching at his chest. "I once left you a bag of diamonds!"

"You only left those because you _forgot_ them."

"I've never forgotten _any_ thing, _any_ where." Says the man who can't even remember how old he is.

"Well then!" Penguin turns an aggressive brand of forced cheer on us, coming to a halt in front of an ornate black door. "Lets not keep our new friend waiting, shall we?" There's something vengeful in his eye as he says this, and when one of his henches pulls open the door I start to understand why.

The room is gorgeous of course, the same mix of gothic and modern that characterizes the rest of this place with a floor to ceiling window stretching across the wall to our left. The table in the center of the room has to be at least six feet long and the setting is opulent to say the least, but none of that is interesting compared to the woman sitting at the far end.

Poison freakin' Ivy.

If she was wilting in arkham she's in full bloom now; she's gained back the weight she lost, restoring her formerly marilyn-esq curves. Her dress is a greenhouse special, a collage of foliage hugging her body and falling open at the hip to reveal her crossed legs and bare feet. Strands of star jasmine and passion vine wind around her waist and arms, twining up into her curled raspberry hair to hold the longest strands out of her face as the rest falls over her freckled shoulders. Her complexion was a washed out shade of sage under arkham's LED bulbs, but now the chlorophyll swims through her skin like sunlight underwater, glowing and shimmering as it moves below the surface.

"Lookin' _good_ , Red!" The impulsive compliment earns me a hard pinch from J and a startled look from Ivy, who quickly shutters her shock to look me over. Her gaze moves quickly from my great big smile to a bruise on my arm, then to my heavily bandaged hand. There's a flare of something dark in her hazel eyes before she brings them back to my face.

"Harley..." My name is both mourned and distained on her tongue. She seems to waver slightly like she wants to walk toward me, but then she switches her gaze to J and it hardens. "Joker."

"In the flesh!" He steps forward, sliding one hand possessively up my back. "I'd offer to shake your hand, but the last time we met you shook my whole body-" He lets out a burst of laughter, tipping his head around to Oswald. "She's got _tentacles_ , you know." Penguin purses his lips like it will keep him from rolling his eyes- it doesn't.

"- Like Cthulhu." J looks back to Ivy with a taunting grin. "They've got a whole genre for you in Japan! I'm not a connoisseur myself, but scaredy crow's internet history suggests that he could point you in the right direction." Ivy doesn't respond for a long moment, staring at him like she's deciding whether or not to call in some of those vines right now.

" _Ugh_." For some reason she directs this at me. J snorts, but then she whips back to him with an expression that could peel paint. "This is what they're afraid of? You're a _child_."

"Haven't you seen Chucky?" J tips his chin up and her brow furrows.

"Or the Omen!" I didn't really mean to blurt that out, it's just that I had a crush on Damien when I was a kid and I ain't thought about that in _years,_ but oh god I think I just interrupted him and-

"The exorcist." He says it like a challenge and my heart swells.

"...The Shining?" I offer this tentatively and he grins.

"-let's not forget the non-demonic children, we don't want little Michael feeling left out now do we?"

"Aww, he was so cute in that lil clown suit! Stabbin' his sister-"

"Excuse me!" I jump at Ivy's outburst, looking over to find her with her hands clenched into balls at her sides. Puddin, on the other hand, barely gives her a glance when he replies.

"You're excused." His tone is curt but he's almost laughing and Ivy's face is starting to go red.

"Are you _done_?" The black lillies in the centerpiece twitch.

"Oh come _on_ ," J puts up his hands in phony surrender. "- what's wrong with a little friendly conversation! It can't be all business _all_ the time-"

"Well, thank Gaia we aren't _friends_ , because _-"_

"Thank gay for what now?"

Ivy takes a very long breath as the vines of her dress coil and stretch restlessly, and then she smiles. It's not a very good smile- it's almost laughably fake, but you can't fault a girl for trying can you?

"I asked to meet so we could discuss a transaction." Every word is pronounced with painfully deliberate precision, like it's a struggle not to shout or swear _._ "Can we _do_ that?"

"Mmmhmhmhee-" J attempts a hum but it turns into a dark little giggle as he moves to take the seat opposite Ivy's. He folds himself into it like he owns the place and Oswald does a funny little sniff - he's already sitting, nursing a drink that seems to have appeared out of thin air. I'm about to move for the last seat when J snaps his fingers _-_ I'm next to him before I know it, and then those fingers are wrapping around my wrist to pull me down onto his lap. Oh my god _._

 _Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god-_

I'm sitting on his fucking lap. He has his arm around my waist with his hand against my stomach, and Ivy is glaring _bullets_.

"I must say, I was really rather taken aback when Pengers invited me over!" J drums a little beat on my stomach while he speaks and warm tingle runs down my spine. "You hardly seem the type for a team-up issue." His magic hand dances up my side, over my shoulder and into my hair to toy with a curled pigtail.

"This isn't a _team-up_ ," Ivy draws her shoulders back and squares her jaw. "I've been made aware of the fact that you control most of Gotham's black market chemical trade, and I intend to make a purchase." I'm impressed by her resolve in this moment, really, it's obviously taking massive restraint to keep from murdering my boyfriend- it's almost a shame that J is about to laugh.

"She intends to make a _purchase-_ " He breaks into a stream of derisive giggles. "Will that be cash or credit?" Ivy's hands have turned into claws on the table but she forces them to flatten out when she catches me looking.

" _Cobblepot_ -"

"I told you I would arrange the meeting, not that I would wrangle him for you." Penguin leans back in his chair and pulls out a cellphone, as if to further clarify his disinterest.

"Oh, I _do_ so enjoy a good wrangling!" J bounces his knees and I have to clutch at his jacket to keep from falling off his lap. "Lasso me, hogtie me, lash me to the train tracks and leave me to my fate-"

"I'm done!" Ivy tosses her hands up and she's grinning for real now but it's the feral kind that means the exact opposite of happiness- "I was going to try, I was going to be _polite_ but I can't do this!" She spits, standing from her seat. "I'll get it from _Luthor_."

"Huh." J is looking at me when he says this but he doesn't want me to respond, he's baiting her. Obviously it works.

"If you have a point, get to it." I swear she'd have steam coming out of her ears if we were in a cartoon. She's gone all claw-handed again and her lips are pressed together so tight they've collapsed into a single line.

"Oh, I have many points!" Exclaims my clown in a child-like burst of pride. "But they're very sharp, I don't think you'd like them." Just like that the proud little boy turns himself into an absolute menace, and my heart swells.

" _I_ like em' Mistah J." Ivy's expression twists from aggravation to revulsion at my words.

"Yes, I _know_ you do, cupcake." J's voice is low and devious when he says this, deliciously lascivious in a way it would never be when we're alone, but it send a thrill through my belly all the same.

Naturally I'm bright red.

"But as I was saying," He goes on like nothing happened- "Luthor is an odd choice," Meanwhile _I'm_ still trying to catch my breath- "What with all the _clearcutting_ , and the _fracking_ , and the _oil_ leaks…"

" _Some_ times," Ivy's jaw clenches and her nostrils flare. "you have to get in bed with a monster if you want to bring it down."

"I wouldn't," J drawls, "That particular monster isn't the most generous lover." I do my best not to let my mouth fall open as the statement sinks in- was that a metaphor or did my boyfriend just suggest that he's fucked Lex Luthor?

"See here's the _thing_ ," In an instant his tone goes from teasing and suggestive to shrewd and pointed, and despite herself, Ivy is still listening. "You could go buy your candy from sexy Lexy and finance an amazonian fernicide _or…._ " He drags out the word until Ivy's practically punches the tabletop.

" _What_?"

" _Or_ you could suffer through a nice dinner with little old me, and get it for free- Oooh!" He claps. "I made a rhyme."

"Oh- _kay,"_ Ivy seems to grit her teeth, planting her palms flat on the table. "Now tell me what you mean by 'free'."

"Information, my dear! That's it and that's _all_. I'll even promise not to use it for above-board purposes." He chuckles, thrusting out his hand for her to shake on it. She doesn't take it, doesn't do anything but some very controlled breathing for at least a minute, then she turns and walks back to her seat.

Oswald rolls his eyes, downing the rest of his drink before producing a small bell from his pocket to summon the waiter. A tuxedoed man with slicked hair and a thin moustache marches straight-backed into the room, moving to replace Penguin's empty glass before turning to the rest of us.

"And what will we be having tonight?" Despite the practiced ease of his service industry tone, the waiter betrays himself with a bead of sweat- I don't blame him, the tension in this room is thick to say in the least.

"Steak, rare, _no_ sides." Ivy doesn't even look at the poor man, she's still glaring at J, who has started to play five finger fillet with my right hand and a butter knife.

"Yes, of course madam." Our waiter nods with a bit too much vigor, turning to J and I with an expression that pleads for this interaction to be swift. "The usual for you, sir?"

"Mais _non_ , mon beau garçon!" J's french is startlingly fluent and I squirm before I remember that I'm on his knee and he can feel me. "I'm _vegan_ now." He's looking straight at Ivy as he says this and her expression sours but she doesn't look away. Penguin makes a loud snort. "Well," J narrows his eyes and turns a suddenly smouldering gaze on me. "-aside from cupcake here."

A spurt of panicked giggles burst out of me because oh my _god,_ did he really just say that? I mean aside from the fact that it's completely untrue, I'm picturing it in vivid detail and it is _not_ an appropriate thought for the dinner table.

"Bring me some sort of…" J flaps his hand around for a moment, like he's trying to find the word. " _Salad_. And one those drinks, the sour one, you know how I like them"

"Yes sir- _um_ , what kind of salad? We have-"

"Surprise me!" Judging by the tilt of his brow, this is the last response Mr. waiter was hoping for, and the giggle J lets out says that was completely intentional.

"Yes sir. And for you miss?" Our poor little waiter boy looks to me with what can only be described as a desperate smile, and I feel for him, I really do! I would love to help him get out of this room a little faster, only I forgot to look at the menu and my boyfriend is still using my hand for a knife game, so it's a little risky to try and reach for it now-

"Uhhhh…." I'm making noise just to stall for time at this point. "You got one a' those chocolate murder cakes?"

"Um- death by chocolate, Miss?"

"Yeah, that one!"

" _Really,_ Harley?" J lets out his most disapproving sigh, thick with artifice. "That cake has eggs in it, don't you know how they treat chickens in factory farms? I simply can't stomach the _abuse_." _God, he's full of shit tonight._ Ivy makes a sound like she's trying to swallow a growl and J snorts.

"But Mistah _Jayyyy-_ " I really freakin' want that cake now!

"We do have a vegan dessert option-" The waiter offers tentatively. " It's a-"

"Yes, yes, she'll have that." J cuts him off, obviously tiring of the current charade. The harried man takes his leave as quickly as he can without running.

" _Sooo_ ," J tosses the butter knife aside, releasing my hands to prop his elbows on the table. "You want my brain juice."

"If you're talking about the lipid-nanoparticles you've been hawking, then yes." Ivy's face seems set in a permanent sneer now,"But I'm not paying you in information, Joker. It's cash or I walk."

"Oh-" He breaks into a giggle. " Oh _dear_ , it's too late for that. You've already paid me- you want my forebrain ferry! My _frontal lobe-probe.._ and why indeed would you want a molecule designed to sneak drugs into craniums unless you have a drug you want to sneak into craniums?"

"That's not _information, "_ She scoffs. "- thats a simple deduction-"

"It's that mind control drug you used at arkham isn't it?" J tips his head to the side, grinning.

"You don't know _anything_ -" Ivy lashes back with fury, and to be honest I'm a little scared but J ain't, and everyone in this room knows he's just taken the upper hand.

"Of _course_ it is," He leans forward suddenly, lunging like trap spider into whatever verbal snare he's set . "But you've clearly had no trouble with the cerebral smuggling thus far, so I'm forced to conclude that the method of delivery is what you're looking to adjust." Ivy sputters but he's on a roll now and he runs right over her. "I'm guessing it's only transferable by fluid at the moment, not contagious, so you need one to one contact with every recipient- must have been awfully _taxing_ smooching all those guards, hmm?"

" _Smooching_ all those guards is what got you out of jail!"

"Well _chin-chin_ for you, _hippy-dippy."_ Sarcasm soaks his tone and Ivy huffs like an angry bull. "But it doesn't change the fact that you want to aerosolized your toxin- that's what my nanoparticles are best at afterall. Maybe you just want it for the occasional spritz- _maybe_. or maybe you're looking to get those tentacles on something _bigger_."

The centerpiece is twitching again and Ivy is about to respond with something inevitably biting when there's a short knock on the door. The waiter enters with his head down, replacing Penguins drink- notably without ice this time- then fighting through the steadily thickening silence to deliver our food. I'm just about to inspect my vegan dessert-thing when J bounces his knee, tipping me off his lap so I have to catch myself on the table to avoid the floor.

"Go wash your hands Harley," _What?_ He's been known to make some odd requests but this one is really out of left field- "God only knows where they've been."

I take a peek at his face to try and figure out what he's up to, but he isn't even looking at me anymore! He's just poking around at his salad while Ivy glares on from the other end of the table, stabbing her alarmingly bloody steak like she's trying to kill it all over again. Well... ok then. I leave the room reluctantly- I mean there's no way he actually wants me to wash my hands, it's just not the kind of thing that would be on his radar!

A hench opens the door and points me to the left- what if J just wants me out of the room, what the _hell_ is he trying to hide? Anxiety marches me down the hall to the washroom, one of those fancy individual ones- maybe he's planning to follow me in here, maybe I did something bad! My stomach shoots into my throat but I don't lock the door, and if only because I have no idea what else to do, I turn to the sink and start washing my hands. I'm still rinsing away the suds when I hear the door open.

I whip around to see him stepping across the threshold, face inscrutable and tipped down to hide behind a fall of curls. I'm pinned to the sink by nothing more than the sight of him as he turns the lock to seal us in, goosebumps spreading rapidly up my arms and making me shiver. His fingers drop away from the door and I want to say something to fix whatever I did, apologize, _I don't know-_ I'm starting to think my legs might give out when he grabs me by the hips and lifts me onto the edge of the sink.

He steps between my knees and I can't help but remember the last time we were like this, when he told me I was nothing to him and tried to choke me out- it's like he's reading my mind because his cold fingers wrap around my throat seconds after the thought registers.

My breath hitches and I wait for the gavel to fall but it doesn't, he doesn't squeeze and I manage to look him in the eye on nothing more than the power of sheer confusion. There's a spark there, something delicious preceding the devious grin that spreads across his face to bunch those beautiful scars into dimples.

He _snickers_.

"You look nervous, cupcake." Oh my god, of course I am! I don't know what the hell to think- my body is saying I should take off my clothes but my brain is saying that this _has_ to be a trick, and my heart is pounding so hard I think it just might burst-

"Heh, _um,_ maybe a lil'." My voice is barely audible but he's close enough to hear me, so close that his nose brushes my cheek as he laughs- _well at least one of us finds this funny._

"You're cute when you're scared, y'know that kid?" His tone is begrudgingly fond as he pulls back to look at me and I don't trust it, even though my hands have found the back of his neck and my legs have hooked themselves around his hips. I feel hot and cold, electrified and liquified and my nails are digging into his skin under the tension of it.

"My _funny_ little baby," There's a bite to his words and I can't look at him anymore so I just stare at his chest instead. He runs his thumb along the edge of my jaw before adjusting his grip on my throat, and something like a whimper escapes me as heat pools in my belly.

"Always with the _squeaking,_ and the _shivering,_ and the _pleading-"_ And again he sounds pissed but he's toying with the edge of my skirt! He still hasn't squeezed but I'm holding my breath all the same. "But it's never just fear with you, _no-"_ He shoves my skirt up to my waist and I gasp, because there is _no_ way this is happening, I gotta be dreaming-

"You always have to bring _this_ into it, don't you?" It's a rhetorical question and I'm goddamn grateful for that because there's no way I can speak right now- he's hooking a finger under my garter strap, snapping it against my thigh. " _Look at me._ " This is a growl and I obey without a thought, a thrill shooting down my spine to amplify that heat in my belly.

"Tell me what you want, Harley." Blood rushes to my face as he runs his fingers along the edge of my panties and oh my _god_.

 _Oh my god oh my god oh my god-_

" _Please-"_ I sound a bit choked but it's the only thing I'm capable of because all I can feel are those fingers, and suddenly the thought of asking for it is _mortifying_.

"Please what?" He drawls, dragging a sharpened nail along my hip bone. "Don't tell me you've lost your nerve after all that pining-" I know I've been obvious about it but does he _really_ have to bring it up like that? "Where's my _brave_ girl?" He's completely sarcastic but I can't care, I need this.

" _Touch me you goddamn bastard-"_ It's little more than a croak but I can barely believe I pushed it out- his grip tightens suddenly on my throat and then, finally, his fingers dip into my underwear.

IT'S. _HAPPENING!_

I don't know what's on my face but he's really laughing now and I couldn't care less! _It's happening it's happening it's happening it's happening it's happening it's happening-_

"Ah!" The sound escapes me unbidden as he presses against that perfect little knot of nerves between my legs, a dizzy rush washing over me.

"Here's-" He pauses to giggle as I bite my lip against a groan. "Here's the _deal_." There's a flash of something dark in his eyes and it's sweltering. "This is a speedrun! It's a classic game of _get_ _off_ or _asphyxiate_ ," His grin stretches maliciously as he rubs a slow circle that has my hips pushing forward for pressure. "- And in case you hadn't noticed," His grip tightens again on my throat and I really start to struggle for air, knotting my fingers into his hair to hold on for dear life. " _\- We've already started."_

His low laughter pours into my ear and I grit my teeth, trying to rock against his hand. He won't let it happen though, pressing me back against the mirror with a slow shake of his head and then starting again with those torturous circles. I retaliate with a hard tug at his hair and his grin goes crooked as he lets me pull him just a little bit closer- not nearly close enough.

"Oh don't pout at me, it's a _game,_ it's not supposed to be easy" There's something in his tone that makes it all click- games are a competition, a fight!

I don't even think before I lean back to crack my forehead hard against his nose. I use his second of disorientation to pull him closer with my legs, trapping his hand between us to press against it and take my pleasure and pull feral sound from his chest. I know it was the right idea when he sinks his teeth into the top of my shoulder, pushing a shot of opiate pain into my circulatory system and a cry through my strictured throat. The fire in my belly is blistering now, seconds away from burning me up, and I'm going to win, _fuck_ , I'm-

My ascent is abruptly cut short as he slams me into the mirror again, yanking his hand out from between us and laughing at my undoubted expression of utter dismay. I'm absolutely livid and ramping up to retaliate, but he then he pushes those two fingers into my mouth and I nearly melt.

"My _god_ , you're easy to please-" He jabs his fingers a little further back and I gag, startled as the muscles of my throat struggle to work against his other hand. " _Aww,"_ He chuckles at my sputtering, pulling those fingers back out. "Too much, cupcake? You wanna _slow down?_ "

Fuck _no!_

I shake my head no as hard as I can, grabbing at his hand to try and move it back to the good place but he only laughs, pulling it from my grip and then slapping me across the cheek.

"I'm sorry I didn't quite catch that-" He quips, knowing damn well there's no way I can speak right now- I try it anyways but I don't manage more than a weeze, and a smug grin tugs at his lips. _Bastard!_ My head is starting to spin, he's been gradually tightening his grip this whole time and I'm barely getting any air so it takes too long to realize I might actually lose.

 _Not. Acceptable._

All my frustration, rage and arousal explode in my chest and I swing a jeweled fist to punch him hard across the jaw. _This_ time when I yank at his hair our mouths connect.

He bites down on my lower lip and then his hips are between my thighs again and he's giving me _pressure._ I would gasp if I could, but I've run out of air so I kiss him instead, sloppy and ravenous as I rock desperately against him. He thrusts forward and the sensation plunges straight into the middle of me, my hips bucking as I ride the feeling up, and up-

He growls and I taste blood as his tongue pushes into my mouth. I drink him in and my vision is blurring, my lungs burning against the lack of oxygen but he's not pulling away any more and the pressure is building _fast_. This is happening, this is _real_ and he's kissing me hard, our hips moving in tandem and it's so good it almost hurts. My nails rake down the sides of his neck and he hisses, bitting and licking, and the darkness is closing in on me but it's already starting, _I won_ -

Fireworks burst over my vision and my jaw drops soundlessly as it hits, taking over my body to make me arch and writhe against him, and I don't think this could feel any better until he lets go of my throat. Oxygen rushes back in and I've felt that part before, but this time it piggybacks onto my orgasm and I feel like I'm made of clouds, I'm not even sure I'm on _earth_ anymore- my toes curl inside my boots and a raw groan breaches my throat. Holy _shit_. He deserves an award, I want to give him a goddamn standing ovation!

"Mmmm, _wow_ -" So much for the ovation, but it's not really my fault- I definitely haven't come down yet and my mouth doesn't seem to be working. _God,_ I feel like I'm on morphine or something, my body is made of jelly and my vision is blurry.

"I haven't lobotomized you," Snorts the god standing between my legs- "stop drooling." I stare blearily up at him, struggling to understand the words. He pulls my panties back up and flips my skirt down over my thighs before I can be embarrassed, then he hooks an arm around my waist and throws me over his shoulder. I'm too intoxicated to care that he's just kicked open the bathroom door without giving me a chance to fix myself up, and I don't remember that we have a fucking dinner party to get back to until he's walking back through the dining room doors.

Oh _god_. Ivy.

I can't see her yet and I don't know exactly what I look like but I've got an idea and it's not going to make her happy. J doesn't even hesitate though, he just walks us over to the table and sits down, slinging me down from his shoulder and into his lap like nothing happened.

" _What did you do to her?_ " Ivy's words are deafeningly quiet but we all hear her; the rage of her expression carries all the volume her voice lacks.

"Would you like an itemized list or an erotic retelling?" For a split second the only motion is J's stretching grin, and then everything explodes.

At first I think it's an earthquake but then I realize it's just this room, quaking as Ivy's dress comes to life. Vines pour over the floor, crawling up the walls and sealing the door as Oswald jumps back out of his chair, pulling a revolver from his jacket. He's still trying to aim when the greenery reaches him, wrapping around his arms to rip the gun away and slam him back against the wall so his feet don't touch the ground.

"What do you think you're doing?" He squawks. "Put me _down_ this inst-" A knot of foliage dives into his mouth like some sort of vegan ball gag, and I'm about to laugh when one of those vines snags my ankle.

It tugs hard but J's got his arm around my waist and I almost think I'm going to be pulled in half when something sharp scratches at the skin over my jugular, something that makes Ivy let go of my foot. I risk a glance up and find my Puddin's neck roped in thick coils of thorny vines. He's laughing of course, his eyes squeezing shut as his throat convulses against Ivy's chokehold and drag thorns across his skin. My heart clenches- at least he's got that knife to my throat, otherwise who knows what she'd do?

"I gave him the benefit of the doubt on that broken finger," Ivy's voice shakes when she finally speaks, but she doesn't sound weak or scared. She sounds _terrifying_. I turn to look at her and she's looking right back. "But I can't ignore the fact that he obviously just _strangled_ you. He has a knife to your throat, Harley!"

"IT'S A SEX THING!" Oh my god did I just say that? There's a choked snort over my shoulder and J's entire body shakes under me as his laughter ramps up. His arm tightens around my waist as Ivy's noose does the same to his neck. _Fuck._

"I swear to god, Red- it's just um, you know, a _sex_ thing-" Why the hell would I say it again? This isn't helping at all, Ivy looks like she might vomit and Penguin has turned a vivid red.

"You don't have to _lie_ for him." She spits these words out like poison, glaring bullets into my poor, ridiculous boyfriend.

"I freakin ain't!" As embarrassing as it is to have to talk about this in the current company, I'm starting to get _pissed_. "Don't slut shame me, Pamela!"

"Don't- _what_?" She falters.

"You ain't my mommy! If I like it rough then that's my business," Ivy's mouth drops open and I keep going. "Oh, an' if you kill him I swear i'll grab that knife an' slit my own freakin throat." No one says anything for a few moments, and it would be completely silent if it weren't for J's continues rasps of laughter. He doesn't seem able to stop and the thorns have sliced him up so much that the blood has started to soak his collar. Ivy looks like she doesn't know if she should cry or kill us both.

"She used to be a _doctor-_ " She isn't looking at me anymore, she's glaring over my shoulder and this time it looks final. "She is a brilliant, _beautiful_ woman and you're _destroying_ her!" She's yelling now and J's laughter cuts as her vines start pulling tight again, but then he slides the knife an inch.

The superficial layers of skin at my throat split beneath the blade and Ivy reacts more than I do, flinching hard before pulling back enough to let my poor Puddin' drag in a breath. Warm drops of blood roll down my neck and I have the fleeting thought that we match before I look up again to see Ivy's pretty face rumpled into a mask of misery.

"I _hate_ you-" I'm not sure who she's talking to, she isn't looking at either of us.

"You don't like it when she bleeds?" He's giggling through the words, his voice rough and gritty but no less animated. " _I_ do." His tone is pure lust, and maybe he's only doing it to provoke her- I mean maybe that's why the whole bathroom break happened but who cares when it feels this good?

Ivy opens her mouth to lash back, but something goes very wrong.

Her expression warps and her knees seem to buckle, dropping her to the ground. She clutches at her head, wailing as her vines retract to wrap protectively around her suddenly frail looking body.

"Red!" My heart clenches, and I'm about to run over to her but J's hand locks around my wrist. Penguin hits the ground with a squawk, shouting for his guards and bolting for the newly unbarred doors.

"Not that this hasn't been a _blast-"_ J stands, pulling me up with him just as Ivy's plant-cocoon starts to crack open. "But I've just remembered that I have no intention of selling you anything-"

" _MY BABIES"_ Ivy's voice seems to come from everywhere all at once, and something cold crawls across my skin.

When she reappears the color of her skin has saturated to something like emerald, chlorophyll thrashing angrily beneath the surface, but her _eyes-_ they've gone black. Her brow is crumpled in unspeakable anguish as she stares at J- no, _behind_ him. I follow her gaze without thinking, and _then_ I understand. The city skyline has been cast in sharp relief, shadows straining under the glare thrown by the blaze that used to be Robinson park.

" _YOU"_ Ivy's everywhere voice booms in my chest and I try not to shake.

She's definitely looking at J now and I don't think my hostage act will save us this time. This is _bad_ , this is _so, so bad_ \- I'm reaching for my gun but J is one step ahead of me, wiping a colt from his jacket to point it at the window wall.

"Me _indeed."_ Purrs my boyfriend.

Then he holds down the trigger and yanks me back through the glassy maw.


End file.
